


There is but one Truth

by sapphicwonder



Series: SUBIRA'S STORY: THE ONE WHO FLIES AWAY [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Child Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Dysfunctional Family, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, Kid Inquisitor, Other, POV Alternating, POV Original Character, Religious Conflict, Secrets, Teenage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Teenage Rebellion, Young Inquisitor (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2020-05-01 19:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 76
Words: 172,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19183999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicwonder/pseuds/sapphicwonder
Summary: Subira, a fifteen year old Rivaini orphan who grew up in Antiva finds herself caught up in far more than she can handle. From being tasked with assassinating the Grand Enchanter to aiding with inciting the Mage Rebellion and being thrown into the Inquisition, she's never felt more alone. The cast of the Inquisition struggles with caring for a temperamental, scared teenager while unsure of themselves and their morals.





	1. A Crying, Burning Liar.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beginning of Subira’s story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I have many fic ideas, but this has been consuming my life. I actually need feedback - I have all the way up until the Corypheus/Haven confrontation written, and I can't keep it in my notes anymore. So I'll post slowly while continuing to work on this fic so I can finally write my ship fics/origin fics for my other characters. PS: if you want to get a glimpse at my character aesthetics for Subira, check out my www.pinterest.com/marelena11

It’s very slow, coming back to the land of the living, and she barely remembers the heart-starting dream she had had. In fact, it felt almost far away. The dripping of the cell is the first thing she notices when she regains consciousness. Blinking her eyes open in the dim light of the room, she feels very heavy. Thrown in for sleeping outside a shop again probably, she grouses sleepily.

After a moment, she shifts and her hands get caught on cuffs. Simultaneously in the dark four swords are drawn, metal singing against metal and she freezes in fear.

She reminds herself to take deep breaths. They can’t hurt her if they don’t know she’s scared.

She mentally repeats this in a mantra, turned away from the door. Her face is scrunched up tight, terrified of whatever is going to come through it. She can hear muffled voices coming down the hallway, closer and closer. It won’t be long now.

_“-Leliana, we cannot forcefully interrogate a child!”_

_“A child? A monster!”_

The door swings open in a wide arc, based on the air that pushes itself towards her. The old metal door creaks the whole way and she peeks out of her left eye, just for a moment, gaping at the sight before her.

The Left and Right Hands of the Divine step through the threshold, bickering quietly without paying notice to the quivering teenager on the ground.

“S... Sister Nightingale? And Seeker Pentaghast... What...”

Her confusion fades to faintness as she slumps against the restraints, head lolling. She can feel the harsh thumping of her heart pulsing against her neck. Something angry and hot like pain spits and sputters to life on her left hand side and the two Hands finally cease their arguing when she cries out.

 _What happened?_ Where’s Castelleta? And the others? Her brain is hazy with pain. She’s only able to discern that whatever is causing her pain is of magical origin before her thoughts are scattered again.

“I don’t know-“ She clenched her jaw and makes her hands into fists, arms tensing from forearm to upper arm as she forces herself into a sitting position with her head hanging forward. Sister Nightingale has disappeared from her vision and if she focuses she hears the just-there tapping of soft shoes on the ground behind her. “-I don’t know why I'm here, but I didn’t do anything.”

The Seeker narrows her eyes. “Explain _that_.”

The thing on her hand has chosen now to crack and spark to life, forcing her upright position to falter and she viciously swallows bile, unable to hide the horror coloring her features. The Hands watch intently.

“I... Can’t!” She grinds out, sure she’s going to rip one of her own teeth out on accident.

_Maker, this pain is excruciating._

Another wave of pain passes from hand to arm to neck and she bites down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, trying her hardest to wait it out. She won’t beg for death.

The Left hand steps from the side into her line of sight, sweeping an eye over her. “Do you have any idea what happened?”

Stubbornly, she grits her teeth. “If I did, I probably wouldn’t be in this situation, would I? I’d be halfway to the Anderfels by now, _puttana_.”

“What a mouth on you, hm?” The Left Hand leans in, grinning like a cat. “I wonder where you come from, to talk like that?”

Seeker Pentaghast pinches the bridge of her nose. “Leliana, _please_ \- do not antagonize the child.”

“Yes, Leliana,” she pouted mockingly, the dainty name rolling off of her richly-accented tongue in a honeyed tone. “Do not antagonize the child.”

The two women wonder how much to tell the seething teenager on the ground. How trustworthy can she be? On the other hand, if they’re all dead, wondering about how trustworthy she is won’t matter. For the angry, frothing-at-the-mouth child on the ground, it isn’t about trust. She knows she cannot trust them at all - most especially the Left Hand.

The faster she convinces them she’s just another street rat to throw on the cobblestone to scuttle away, the faster she can find Castelleta and get out of here.

“If I had done something to really warrant my arrest,” her chest heaves to get the words out, “Then you wouldn’t have even known I was here.” Her teeth are bared and her breaths hiss by them as she pants.

In the dark lighting of the room, her eyes almost have a dangerous glint shining over them. The green of her irises appear alight for just a moment, but it’s gone before either Seeker or Sister Leliana can look closer.

“You make a bold assertion for the suspect currently detained,” The Seeker steps forward with a hand on her sword, fire blazing in amber eyes.

Subira grins into the face of her would-be executioner.

Sister Nightingale, without taking her eyes off of the prisoner, steps in with a hand on her counterparts chest. “We need her, Cassandra!”

Her face falls. She hadn’t even realized she was looking forward to goading the Seeker into killing her.

_Now what?_

“Go to the Forward Camp, Leliana. I will show the girl the Breach.”

 _Well, that’s certainly not an ominous name._ “The what?”

The Seeker continues conversing quietly with her counterpart, almost as if she hadn’t heard her.

“Hey, _puttana di ferro!_ ” She calls, and both women turn to look at her. “Remember me? What is ‘the Breach’?”

The Seeker, either not knowing the language (perhaps ignoring her creative use of it) or truly unsettled by the events, adopts a grim look. “It would... be easier to show you.”

Which is how she ends up being lead outside of the Chantry’s dungeons (funny that they have those, considering it is a place of worship, but Subira shrugs the thought away) and into bright light. How long had she been out for?

Certainly she’d seen her fair share of magical mishaps; being a mage who’s lived her life in secret, traveling on the road. But this...

The knowledge of the destruction something like this must have caused brings her to her knees on the snowy ground, with the agonizing pain flaring in her hand and up her arm. She curls into herself and bows her head as the pain crawls up her shoulder, forcing tears out of her eyes and gasping breaths out of her lungs. Clouds of vapor cling to the heavy mountain air around them before floating away.

“Every time the Breach spreads, so does the mark. And it _is_ killing you.”

_Yeah, no shit! Thanks for the heads up!_

She snorts. “Seems like I’ve got no choice. Let’s go, Seeker.”

The Seeker seems unfazed by the girls disgruntled demeanor and simply leads her through the town she knows as Haven. Her expression becomes that of one forlorn, remembering that - at least to her - mere hours before she had stolen a corset two sizes too big for her, charmed a young guard far from his post before knocking him out.

The money she stole made sure (after she returned the corset) that her and Castelleta were able to go to sleep with full bellies that night in a warm bed. They spoke in hushed whispers of the days to come until they fell asleep cheek to cheek.

Obviously, they don’t know she’s a mage yet. If they did, she’s sure they’d have as many Templars they could spare guarding her.

The idea makes her shudder. She doesn’t have time to continue that train of thought because they haven’t gotten very far before a bridge collapses. She groans exasperatedly when her ribs hit stone, cursing whatever gods exist above for that particular placement.

_Get up, get up! Okay, Seeker Pentaghast is on her feet-_

Demons. Holding back the sigh of exasperation is far harder than it should be, all things considered. If this is the beginning of it all, she doesn’t even want to imagine what it’ll be like later on.

Unsteadily she makes it to her feet and blinks rapidly to clear her vision, trying to find her balance.

“Get behind me!” The Seeker roars, taking up a defensive stance.

 _Hah! As if._ She rolls her eyes even as she frantically searches for a weapon before landing on a discarded staff. She shakes her head and turns to look for anything else - _Aha!_

She grabs the daggers off of a dead soldier with a whispered blessing before turning to face the demon that has crept up on her.

“Come at me, you ugly bastard,” She sneers, parrying it’s swipe at her before ducking under its wide arms and slashing rapidly.

The demon dissolves into the ground with a hiss and she breathes heavily, pressing a hand to her ribs. The soft green glow is missed by the Seeker, and the girl can stand taller and draw breath a bit easier before the Seeker has her attention on her again.

The Seeker turns to the prisoner, sword drawn. “Drop your weapon!” She barks. _“Now!”_

 She huffs. “‘Thank you, person I have locked up as a prisoner for providing backup.’ Oh, you’re very welcome, Seeker.”

The words are dripped in sarcasm and the Seeker frowns.

She continues flatly, “Now, shall I still drop them and leave myself defenseless? I surely shouldn’t trust you to watch my back.”

The Seeker draws her lips into an even thinner line at the young girls agitation.

“Fine,” She sheaths her sword with a tired sigh. “I cannot protect you. Perhaps I should remember you chose to come willingly.”

The girl snorts, tilting her chin up in defiance. “Perhaps you should.”

They make their way trudging through the snow in silence, the older woman noticing scars of all sorts marring the girls dark skin. The Seeker can tell that she’s at least lived in Antiva if she isn’t of Antivan origin. Rivain, maybe? The accent makes it hard to tell.

The Seeker frowns. She is just a child, really. She cannot be past her sixteenth year. What would a child be doing at the Conclave in the middle of all of this destruction?

Similarly, Subira wracks her brain for anything that could point her towards an answer. All she remembers is parting ways with Castelleta and promising to find her later, paying a serving girl to switch places with her, slipping into the kitchens and navigating her way through and then... _Nothing._

She remembers running, a woman, and the horrible feeling of being chased but knowing you’re trapped. She shudders involuntarily.

There’s simply a blank gap in her memory from the kitchens to the horrible flashes of green that she feels like might be the fade, but that wouldn’t make sense. _Nothing is making sense..._

“We’re close! You can hear the fighting.” Subira focuses in again.

“Who’s fighting?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” The older woman charges ahead, sword and shield in hand.

“Oh, thank you for the vague answer. Completely answered my question.” Subira mutters, drawing her blades.

A dwarf unloads bolt after bolt into the demons pouring through the crystalline tear in front of her. She feels the pull of the fade from the other side; the lulling scent of salt water and lavender drift past her tantalizingly and the smell of Antivan spices mingle in between in a big cluster of things she didn’t realize she had missed.

But there’s an undercurrent of sulfur and things that are wholly wrong; creating an incense that burns as an offering for an entity that should not be awakened.

Shaking her head, she jumps into action, startling the dwarf beside her.

“Woah, _hold on!_ Seeker, you’re letting the kid fight now?”

“That’s kind of unfair, short stuff! Don’t worry about it!” She answers for the older woman, twirling with precision and landing a hard kick to a demons side before plunging her dagger into its head. When she removes it, it makes a sucking noise and ichor clings to the blade and she grimaces. _“Euch_ , gross.” In vain she tries to fling the guts off of the blade and into the snow, but they’ve seared themselves to it like skin to metal.

She hears rather than sees the mage coming up beside her and tenses when she sees his staff drop from her peripheral.

“Quickly, before more come through-!”

Anticipating his move, she darts out of reach and grabs for the force of energy in front of her. She feels the disconnected threads in front of her and she yanks, yanks, _yanks_ until something gives, following the marks lead.

The force pushes her to her knees, breathing heavily and drained.

“Next time,” she heaves, “a simple ‘stick your hand into the chaotic swirling vortex’ will do. Speaking of, how did I do that?”

“Duly noted. And that can be answered simply; Whatever magic opened the tear in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened.”

He turns to Seeker Pentaghast now, “Your prisoner is not a mage. In fact, I find it difficult to believe that any individual would have the power to achieve a feat such as this.”

Subira nearly bites off her own tongue from her surprise. There is absolutely no possible way he can say that she isn’t a mage; especially if he’s a trained apostate, the way he seems to be. He’d be even better at telling, actually.

_Why is he lying for her?_

Varric clears his throat. “And here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever. Varric Tethras; Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally... unwanted tagalong.” He grins at the Seeker, who in return pins him with a scowl.

“Hey, not sure if my opinion matters at all here,” she waves a bit to draw their attention, “but if you’re just coming along to annoy her,” she jerks her head in Seeker Pentaghast’s general direction. “Please don’t.”

The Seeker seems pleased and she rushes to add,

“She has a big enough stick up her ass as is - without adding a dwarf-sized one.”

The scowl returns as Varric laughs and laughs.

The Seeker turns to the dwarf. “Your help was appreciated, Varric, but-“

“Have you seen the shit-hole that is the Valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You _need_ me.”

The teenager puts her head in her hands to try and push back the pounding in her head - caused by being in so much contact with the fade - while the two argue. They pay her no mind, content to verbally hash it out. Eventually she’s had enough, and isn’t afraid to say so.

Subira clenches her fists. “Will you two please... _Shut up!”_ Varric’s eyebrows raise into his forehead, and the Seeker’s mouth hangs open before snapping shut. “I can barely hear my own thoughts and you two are making it worse! _Chei!”_

“That does not sound like any language I’ve heard in the south,” the mage says, in a clear invitation to begin a conversation and to divert them from the present subject.

Not that she minded much, because those two were bickering as if they had all the time in the world.

In a flat, non-conversational tone, she replies, ”It’s Riviani.”

He nods. “You are quite young to travel such a long way, are you not?”

“And you’re quite bald to be so nosy, are you not?” She mocks, the elf’s eyes widening comedically.

Varric chokes on the water he’s drinking from his flask.

“We are leaving.” Seeker Pentaghast interrupts, evidently having made up her mind on Varric.

Subira mutters about how she got to have her argument uninterrupted, but follows without further complaint.

* * *

“I am Solas, if there are to be introductions.”

She looks over at the bald elf, Solas, she now knows. It’s the first thing he’s said since they started moving.

_And since she pointed out his baldness._

“What he means is ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’” Varric chimes in.

“Interesting,” she mutters thoughtfully, wondering if dying in her sleep would’ve been more beneficial. “My thanks. I’m sure I’ll owe you in the near future, then.”

Solas furrows his brow. “That is... not necessary.”

She rolls her eyes. “A life for a life, Master Solas. You saved mine, so I will watch your back. Good deeds are hard to come by, you know.”

The three adults exchange glances.

“Hey, kid,” Varric calls from behind her and she turns to face him. “How old are you?”

The girl pauses her steps, tipping her chin thoughtfully.

“Hold on,” she begins counting under her breath. “I just passed my fifteenth. Should be nearly sixteen?"

She scratches her head thoughtfully and Varric gapes.

“Makers hairy ass, kid. What are you doing tangled in the middle of all of this?”

The Seeker hisses at Varric to ‘not blaspheme in front of a child’. Subira shrugs.

“I’ve heard worse.”

Varric grins, causing Cassandra to give him a withering look of warning, though he pays her no mind.

“Oh yeah?”

The corner of her lips turn up. “When you live in an orphanage or the street for most of your life, you hear lots of things that little ears aren’t meant to.”

She turns her attention ahead. The call of the fade is closer again, the veil is thinner. It pokes and prods at her being unhelpfully, and feels sticky on her skin as if it was a layer of syrup stuck to her.

“Demons ahead, be ready.”

“How do you know?” Seeker Pentaghast demands, still drawing her sword and preparing her shield.

“The mark.” she replies smoothly. The Seeker is none the wiser to her lie.

The fight begins in a flurry of motion as magic, arrows, and one teenager share a battlefield in a whirlwind of daggers and dark hair. Each move is a bit like Subira herself; graceful, calculated, efficient, and, most importantly: utterly chaotic.

Subira darts to the left, cutting off the arm of a demon reaching for her before thrusting the other blade into its chest. It dissolves into the rift like the rest who fell beneath her and she reaches her hand out to close it, bringing the threads of the veil back together. Pain and power sizzle in her palm and she wonders if that’s what divinity feels like.

“You are becoming quite proficient at this.” Solas appraises her.

It’s hard for her to tell whether or not that is sarcasm, stating a fact or a genuine compliment, so she stares at him for a moment before walking away.

“The forward camp isn’t far, right?” She asks the Seeker.

“No, child, it’s not.”

Flashes to an overbearing orphanage ‘mother’ pulse in front of her momentarily, slipping on some ice but regaining her balance. The Seeker reaches out to stabilize her but hesitates at the glare the girl sends her way.

Subira curses the close connection to the fade and vivid imagination but also the entire situation. She wouldn’t be so off-kilter right now if it weren’t for the proximity of the fade. This brings her back in a circle of thought to Solas; _why is he protecting her?_

Thinking back, during the initial fight (and the fight after) he’d been an inhibitor; he allowed her magic to come to a focus in the storm of the fade, though she hadn’t realized it at the time.

An anchoring force was exactly what she needed, but the circumstances of his knowledge... it’s strange.

She’ll have to keep an eye on that one.

“So, did you do it?” Varric’s question pulls her out of her thoughts.

The other two party members listen in, eager to hear the answer.

“Who’s to say?” She shrugs. “I sure as shit hope I didn’t. It’s very unlikely I came all the way here to cause destruction. But it is what it is,” she waves a hand.

Varric whistles. “Damn, Spitfire,” he shakes his head. “That’ll get you every time. Should’ve spun a story.”

_Trust me, Varric! If I had considerably more time and resources to work with, I would’ve spun a story._

The Seeker makes a noise of disgust. “That’s what you would’ve done, Varric.”

“Damn right I would! Tends to prevent premature execution.”

“Listen, if I had the balls to lie to the woman made of muscles on top of muscles,” she jabs a finger at Seeker Pentaghast, “I would. But I don’t, so I won’t. Though, at the rate things are going for me, premature execution might be my best option, so I’ll get back to you on that.”

* * *

They arrive at the forward camp to see a red faced chantry official and Sister Leliana in what looks like a one sided argument. The latter has her face schooled into indifference, and Subira reminds herself that she should also be practicing keeping her cards close to her.

Her brief stint in Orlais taught her much and she would do good to capitalize on those teachings. While she detested the pomp and flair, Orlais did give her one good thing; Castelleta.

“-do no such thing!”

The Sister presses on. “Chancellor, we must get the child to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It is our only chance!”

“‘Our only chance’!” Chancellor Roderick mocks. “You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this... exercise in futility.”

The Seeker fumes silently and the Sister is deathly still, and yet the danger that she presents is clear. The Chancellor is treading on very thin ice.

 _“I_ have caused trouble?” Sister Leliana asks in a low, threatening voice.

Chancellor Roderick seems to either have a death wish or too big an ego to care. “You, Cassandra, the Most Holy, _the prisoner_ – haven’t you all done enough already?”

There’s a crack in the facade of Sister Leliana. She steps forward, eyes blazing. “You are not in control here!”

 _“Enough!_ I will not have it!”

Idly, Subira wonders which one of them actually is in control, but wisely decides that that question is one for later.

“Ah, here they come.” The distaste is clear in Chancellor Roderick’s voice.

Sister Leliana shifts and straightens, composing herself. “Chancellor Roderick, this is-“

While Subira is contemplating the finer, less appreciated art of simply sneaking away, Chancellor Roderick breaks her out of her thoughts.

Chancellor Roderick angrily addresses the Seeker. “Why is the prisoner not bound for trial and execution in Val Royeaux?! I hereby order you to bind her at once!”

She subtly shifts behind the Seeker before straightening out again, hoping it was missed. The Seeker straightens up and widens her stance, placing a tight hand on her sword.

“There’s the premature execution! Varric, what do I owe you for calling that one?” She calls back wryly.

Varric laughs with a hand on his stomach. “Maybe a drink, Spitfire!”

She’s about to take him up on that offer when she hears the Seeker scold him and reach back, a yelp of pain following.

Instead, she folds her arms and places her hand comfortingly on the hilt of her daggers and stays facing forward, not wanting to risk the Seeker’s wrath.

Which is in good taste, as the Seeker steps forward boldly to address the Chancellor. “You _order_ me? You are nothing more than a clerk! A glorified _bureaucrat!”_

The Seeker glowers at the ignorant man and her arm subconsciously hovers out in front of the girl.

She tunes them out for awhile, now contemplating the negative outcomes if she fadesteps and takes off - sneaking away, but with style, she thinks.

She thinks she hears the Chancellor call the Seeker a ‘thug’, which doesn’t seem to fit with the _‘holier than thou’_ reputation she’s earned all across Thedas. Most nations see the Hero of Orlais’ faith as something to model, a woman of good conscience and heart.

“-is _dead!_ We must elect a replacement, and obey her orders on the matter!”

What? That got her attention. The first detail she notices is how quiet it becomes. Sister Leliana, aside from a twitch of her fingers, shows no outward reaction. The Seeker grasps the hilt of her sword.

“So... are any of you _actually_ in charge?” She drawls, taking them out of their arguing to focus on her.

“You _killed_ everyone in charge!” Chancellor Roderick accuses, leaning forward over the table.

She clenches her jaw and grips the pommel of her left dagger. Somewhere in the background she thinks she hears Varric mutter, “Oh, he’s done it now.”

“I have seen too much innocent death to kill an entire Chantry of people trying to find peace!” Subira steps forward and the man backs up a step. “You know nothing of what you speak! You useless, performative Chantry officials hide in your offices and play with the decisions of lives you have never met! _Bambino sucio nadie ama!”_

With the overwhelming emotions comes flaring power that normally she could control, but it’s seconded by an energy sharing the space. It slams into her like a wave on the Waking Sea and briefly she feels it travel to her head.

Somewhere she hears a gasp and a weapon being drawn, but she can’t tell from what direction the noise comes from. It’s almost as if its echoing around her and yet she feels like the noise was far away.

Her vision is suddenly dark and she sways, knees hitting the ground. Nausea swells like waves in her stomach and she fights to keep its contents inside.

“-not dangerous, Seeker. Just the mark reacting to the girl’s emotions.” Solas placates the intimidating warrior and she begrudgingly backs up.

The sound of a weapon returning to its sheath hesitantly is heard in her ears.

“Call a retreat Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

The cowardly man sticks his nose up at the seasoned warrior with weariness in his tone. Subira attempts a scoff but only coughs dryly.

“How do you feel?” The mage asks quietly.

“Like an unstable magical lightning rod.” She grunts as discreetly as possible, trying to open her eyes without being overwhelmed.

“I suspected... You are aware, then?” His eyes dart to the others talking around them and back to her.

“Yes.”

He nods once and helps her stand, handing her a cloth he pulls out of his satchel to wipe the blood under her nose.

Finally able to keep her eyes open without becoming off-balance, she glances at her marked hand. It’s grown slightly, the fade-green tendrils curling and crawling slowly up her wrist. She sighs in annoyance.

“Well? What do you think?” Seeker Pentaghast turns to her and she scoffs.

“You’re asking your child prisoner? You really are more desperate than I thought,” she mutters, then bites her lip. Aggravating these people is a bad idea and she backs off.

“You’re hardly a prisoner, kid,” Varric laughs ironically, “more like an unwilling participant to the end of the world!”

“Varric, don’t encourage her,” The Seeker pinches the bridge of her nose.

Something that caught her attention when they were talking resurfaces in her mind. “You said something about missing scouts on the mountain path. Let’s take that route. It’s safest, you said?”

The quicker she can get out of here, the better. The Seeker seems disappointed, but the Left Hand’s keen eyes miss nothing and she can feel her taking in every detail. She hardens her expression and meets her gaze.

The young girl has met worse. The Left Hand is no match for her. _If I survive this, I’ll outwit her. I’ll keep us safe._

* * *

“So, kid... What did you call the Chancellor back there?”

Solas’ lip curls up slightly, curious of what the young girl came up with, and the Seeker decides - warily - to listen to what is probably an earful. Varric raises an eyebrow when Subira blushes bashfully and rubs her neck.

“It... hm, slips my mind... no translation in the common tongue. Just a string of phrases in Antivan, really...”

“Hey, give me some credit, kid! I know some Antivan from an old friend of mine, and I heard...” the dwarf scratches his beard. “Something in there about a child? I think. You were talking pretty fast.”

“I may... have called him a dirty, unloved child.”

It’s silent for a moment before Varric laughs loudly. “Oh, Rivaini would love you.”

Solas hums. “That translates similarly to an elvhen phrase... _‘len-‘_ “

 _“Len’alas lath’din,”_ She says without missing a beat, surprising Solas. “I know bits and pieces of a few languages. Things you pick up from traveling.”

The Seeker sputters at the entire idea. “You... That’s completely disrespectful,” and then, after a moment of thought, she murmurs, “Even if he’s earned it. Chancellor Roderick is a thorn in everyone’s side.”

Varric is quick to play mediator. “Ah, lighten up Seeker-“

Subira rolls her eyes, interrupting whatever Varric is about to say. “It’s not like he understood me,” she sticks out her lower lip, pouting. “Plus, does it matter? I’ll likely be dead by the time the sun sets.”

“Don’t talk like that, Spitfire,” Varric claps a hand onto her shoulder as best as he can for only coming up to her mid-waist. “Have faith. We’ve got your back.”

She nods, but doesn’t feel anything behind it. These people aren’t her friends! What does she do if she survives? _What do they do if she survives?_

These people are not her friends. They may not be her enemies, but nothing good can come from her being here any longer than she absolutely needs to be. Soon she can return to the nearest safe area and find Castelleta and the others and they’ll all be okay and back on the road.

That’s what she keeps telling herself, anyway. She’s now surrounded by adults who are in charge and she’s just the child who follows orders. The child who they’re accusing of mass murder and a heretical crime against the Chantry and need her to stop this before it goes any further.

It’s so much different than being the one in charge when they’re on the road and she’s never felt more like a... well, a child.

Her thoughts spiral out of control as they fight their way through the tunnel pass up until they close the rift. The smell of Rivain and the sound of seagulls calling her closer greets her, pulling her in and as she pulls the tear shut the sounds of the harbors of her home country try and lure her. Once again, in the middle of it all, something distinctly wrong and burnt is tangible and she feels her nausea building.

The wave of pulsing energy from the fade forces her to her knees and she groans, stifling the scream that nearly makes its way out of her. Bile builds in her throat and her eyes are burning before she realizes it, retching into the powder white snow.

Her body shakes with the effort to expel whatever is left (meagre as it is) in her stomach, and when it’s done is when she realizes someone is holding her hair. Subira doesn’t get a chance to see who, as they pull away. Shakily she makes it to her feet.

“Thank the Maker you got here in time, Seeker.” One of the scouts says.

“I did not close the rift, Lieutenant. Nor was it my idea to search the mountain pass. You can accredit that to the girl.”

Eyes turn to Subira and she suddenly shrinks back, raising a hand sheepishly. “Hello?”

With a roll of her eyes, the Seeker begins to talk logistics with the soldier - who she now knows is a Lieutenant - ignoring the trio off to the side. Subira stretches and begins walking.

“Spitfire! We can wait a bit, it’s alright!” Varric calls after her.

“It can’t wait,” she says curtly, turning her head just barely. Her body is tense and ready to flee. “This ends.”

_Either I die with it or it closes. But this ends, that I promise._

She begins walking long before the rest of them, waiting for them to catch up at a tree up ahead. No one attempts conversation as they make their way to the remains of the Temple.

She doesn’t hear their footsteps halt behind her as she takes the first tentative step towards the destruction. The sound of sucking in a harsh breath reaches her ears - she realizes it was her, her lungs suddenly feel like they can’t get enough air, as if it’s being pulled from her chest - and she clutches at her hair, desperate for anything to hold on to.

The image of a kneeling, burned corpse won’t leave her head even when she blinks and she turns, breaths coming short. Her eyes burn from smoke and ash and tears and the wind carries the prayers unanswered of the Holy who burn for their Maker.

Varric looks at the Seeker pointedly, gesturing to the clearly overwhelmed girl. Despite the concern etched into the warriors features, the Seeker stares back at him, gesticulating wildly to say ‘what am I supposed to do?’

The dwarf crosses his arms impatiently, once again gesturing to the girl. Seeker Pentaghast sighs.

Strong, gauntleted hands cover Subira’s arms. “Come,” the Seeker says softly. “Do not look.” The older woman orders it, but not unkindly.

She’s steered through the smoldering remains of the Temple, eyes glued downward. Electricity races up her arm and pinches at her spine as she draws nearer to the source and she gasped quietly, stiffening and relaxing. She clenches her fist and tries to control the tremors; everything is crumbling, dead, destroyed...

“Seeker,” Varric calls out. “Is this-“

 _“Red lyrium,”_ The teenager breathes, eyes lighting up with horror and fascination. “What is that doing here?”

“You know of it?” The Seeker eyes her.

Cautious eyes dart back and forth. “A bit.” She looks at Solas.

The dwarf continues to stare at the red mineral. “I see it, Varric,” The Seeker says exasperatedly.

“But what is it _doing_ here?”

Solas hums and rubs his chin. “Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it…”

“That wouldn’t make much sense though, would it?” The three heads turn to Subira, and she blushes under their stares.

“I mean, how would lyrium - regardless of how far the explosion reached - be corrupted by magic? Lyrium is magic,” she stares at the fascinating mineral with wide eyes.

For a moment she contemplates touching it just to see if it’s as hot as it seems but her common sense overrides that decision.

“I do not know, but we will deal with it when the time comes,” Cassandra decides.

After much grumbling from Varric, the group moves on and quickly find themselves greeted by Leliana.

 _“Leliana!_ Thank the Maker you’re safe.”

Seeker Pentaghast is relieved to see her friend out of harm's way. Subira rolls her eyes, ready to either die or get out of here.

“We close this once and for all. Let’s go.”

“Before that,” the Orlesian lilt reaches out to her, reminding her so much of her wayward friend. “Is there anyone who we should reach out to in the case of...”

“No,” Subira looks up at the Breach, it’s chaotic whirls reflected in her green eyes. “It’s always just been me.”

She shrugs and cracks her knuckles, trying to conceal the electricity that races through them. Her mana is unstable with no way to release it and the build up of another magical energy source inside her.

Without another word Subira jumps down, thinking that behind her she can hear the worried voice of Varric call out to her, accompanied by a _“Be careful!”_ from the Seeker. Quickly the adults make haste to follow her and get into position.

**“Keep the Sacrifice still.”**

The deep voice rocks her to her core, like she’s heard it before. Her skin tingles unpleasantly.

_“Someone, help!”_

_The Divine! And those soldiers restraining her -_ _Templars, maybe? The armor isn’t right..._

_“Most Holy?!” Hearing her own voice startles her. “Hold on, I’ll get help-“_

**“We have an intruder. Slay the halfling.”**

The memory fades out in a billowy echo, the shadow of a man dissipating into mist.

“You _were_ there! Most Holy called out to you for help! What happened?!” Seeker Pentaghast steps into her space angrily and Subira steps forward to meet her, just as angry.

“I told you, _I don’t know!_ The fade must be bleeding into this place...” Subira murmurs, turning to look at the Breach.

Solas forms his response carefully. “Yes,” he says finally. “She would be correct. Memories from what occured bleed into this world. I believe, if you use the mark, you can reopen the Breach and seal it correctly.”

They share a look. “That means attracting attention, Solas.”

Seeker Pentaghast frowns. “Attention?”

Subira sighs, rubbing the side of her face. _“Demons,_ Seeker Pentaghast. Reopening something like this will attract all manner of spirits who are curious, however when interacting with the intent of humans and the remains of this place...” she trails off.

Solas picks up where she left off, “Those spirits would lose their way. She is correct.”

The Seeker looks ready to question her, but she turns away from seeking eyes.

“Stand ready!” She calls, far louder and far more commanding than she feels.

Reaching out and grasping for the Breach, she cries out when it takes a hold of her. Seeker Pentaghast takes a step towards the girl but Solas holds out his arm, shaking his head.

The smell of summer peaches and a sweet perfume flood the air. Subira’s eyes are half-lidded, arm shaking as the first connection with the Breach is formed. A bead of sweat forms on her forehead. The Seeker looks at Solas expectantly.

“The Fade draws strongly on her, it seems,” his brow is drawn into a furrowed line. The Seeker looks between the two of them. “Her memories and feelings are being drawn to the forefront. Most likely, if I had to guess, the last most influential emotions before the Breach.”

Her words are a little less than mumbled breaths and frantic as the connection continues. _“Crows, running...”_ her arm continues to shake, hand curling into a fist so tight it must be uncomfortable, and sweat shines on her face and neck.

_“Castelleta, I’ll find you, I’ll make this right...”_

The smell of salt water and the sound of waves crashing onto some faraway shore hits their ears suddenly and most flinch reflexively, though nothing comes of it. The waves crash and thunder rumbles distantly.

Suddenly her body lights up green and she pushes back, forcing the energy from her body. Solas and the Seeker wince, briefly covering their eyes.

The Breach expands in a burst of light and for a moment, nothing happens. The young girl kneels on the ground, winded. It’s only for a moment before she jumps to her feet.

“Back up!” She yells. _“NOW!”_

A pride demon forces its way through the tear, the laugh it lets out grinding against her ears. She has only encountered them while dreaming, never in the material world. The sheer size of it makes the ground shake and crumble beneath its feet and her knees clack together when she stumbles back.

Her body shakes from the exertion of harboring so much energy in her body and her skin feels as if it’s buzzing. Drawing her blades, she imbues as much magic as she dares into her strikes, parries and slashes.

Unfortunately, the demon has drawn upon the chaos and is incredibly strong, even with the amount of focus on it. Her motions become repetitive and the demon still does not fall. Her arms and legs feel exhausted.

With a stroke of ingenious, she runs towards where the mark has been pulling her: the giant tear in the sky.

“Kid!” Varric shouts, barely able to turn from his targets for the risk of being overrun. “What are you _doing?!”_

“Trust me!” She shouts back at him and swallows, because she doesn’t even trust herself. She’s putting her already limited faith into some mark of strange magical origin.

Facing the Breach, she thrusts her hand into it and doesn’t allow it access this time. Instead she _pulls, and pulls, and_ _pulls until something gives into her-_

With a resounding _‘pop’,_ the Breach crackles and spits green fire, weakening the demon and the lesser ones surrounding it.

“Hit it with everyth-“ She coughs, spitting up blood. “Hit it with everything you’ve got!” She shouts hoarsely.

Swaying to her feet, she rejoins the fight. She takes out a demon creeping up on the Seeker clumsily, pausing to catch her breath. The Seeker cries out to warn her, but it wouldn’t have been fast enough anyway.

Unable to avoid it, a large hand smacks her into a wall, and she falls to the ground. She feels, rather than hears, what would be the sickening crunch of bone over the blood rushing in her ears.

_No... Castelleta... find them... her... dying here..._

The first person to reach her was Leliana, kneeling next to the mumbling girl with a fair amount of concern. Though the Seeker cannot leave the battle for too long, she rushes over next, placing her sword in the ground and sliding to her knees, taking the girl’s head in her lap. Leliana brushes a surprisingly gentle hand over the girls forehead who, instead of leaning into the touch, flinches away.

“No,” she mumbled weakly. “Don’t...”

Cassandra looks helplessly into her colleagues face. She needs to get back to the fighting, and she has little skill in the way of comforting children. Leliana allows herself to be gentle and goes to reassure the girl.

“Oh, dear girl, I’m not here to hurt you...” she cooed.

The girl seems to come to life with the sound of her voice and Leliana can’t help but feel her heart break a little bit.

“Cas...” Her voice is weak and wheezy.

Leliana freezes. She has a split second decision to make. These could be the last breaths this girl takes.

“Yes, my friend. How are you feeling?”

The crumpled girl on the ground laughs, blood bubbling up on her teeth. “Like shit, Cas,” she spits the blood off to the side. “Worse than when the Crows...” She trails off. Her eyes flutter open and shut.

Leliana furrows her brow, sharing a look with Cassandra. Interesting.

She tries to keep her voice low and light. “How would you like it if I sang for you?”

The young girl below her eyes close but nods, face peaceful. Leliana nods at Cassandra and gently they pass her between them, cradling the girl’s head in her lap as the Seeker returns to the fight. The child seems oblivious to the fighting going on around her, resting her head on Leliana’s leathered legs. Leliana picks a well known Orlesian lullaby and takes a deep breath.

By the time she’s finished her song, the apostate - Solas? Leliana cannot summon his name at the moment - hurries over with a healing potion and a brush of magic over her ribs. The girl moves slowly, jolting at her apparent consciousness. It’s minutes of fighting, screaming and crackling from the battle surrounding the Breach before she’s able to move.

Subira barely sits up, looking left and right, hiding the flash of disappointment when all she sees is Leliana. “W... what happened?”

Solas looks behind him, seeing the Seeker deal the killing blow to the pride demon. “You were incapacitated, but the demon is down. We must seal it now.”

The girl nods, wincing as she forces herself to her feet and declining both the mages help and Sister Leliana’s. Approaching the Breach, she feels the energy begin to prod at her. She looks up at the horrible green rip in the veil.

“I’m sorry, Cas.” She whispers up at the Breach, like it can tell Castelleta the words she cannot.

The last thing she remembers is her own screaming and blood in her mouth as she attempts to close it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Subira was raised in Antiva from a young age, but was born in Rivain and is Riviani. (important to make the distinction) She can read - this is explained later - but knows how to navigate the world based on her experiences and taught herself many of the skills she has acquired. But I digress - I will frequently combine very poor Italian and Spanish to make up for the lack of actual Antivan because it's definitely a mix of cultures. I chose a different language for Rivaini (though she doesn't speak it often) based on another fic writer who chose Igbo.
> 
> Translations or Contextual Things:  
> puttana - whore, bitch  
> puttana di fierro - hey, iron whore!  
> chei - fuck!  
> Bambino sucio nadie ama - dirty unloved child *sound familiar?  
> len'alas lathdin - dirty, unloved child *but in elvhen


	2. What’s Done is Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira reminisces with an unexpected ally and tries to come to terms with being thrust into the spotlight.

Waking up not in the darkest pits of the Void or in chains surprises her, but then again she’s been surprised a lot lately.

She groans at how sore her ribs are, but realizes it could be worse, running a heavy hand over her ribs. A flash of green and the soreness minimizes, causing a sigh of relief.

Moments later, an elf servant drops a box - when did she even come in here? - and dropped to her knees.

“ _Woah,_ woah, slow down,” Subira says, bewildered. “What are you doing?”

The servant doesn’t meet her eyes. “They say - say you are our hero, my Lady-“

Subira‘s mouth forms an ‘O’ shape. She’s never been a ‘Lady’ of anything.

“-not woken in three days, we’ve anticipated your recovery...” the elvhen girls voice shakes with how fast she speaks.

“Oh, alright,” Subira says with a shaky voice. “So... there _isn’t_ a mob out there ready for my blood?”

The servant gasps. “Maker forbid, _no!_ You stopped the Heaven’s from splitting further. They - they call you the Herald! They say _Andraste_ has blessed you herself!”

The servant’s eyes have lit up with hero worship and it makes Subira’s stomach uneasy. Unfortunately it shows on her face and the girl interprets it as dissatisfaction with her.

“The - the Seeker is in the Chantry. She said she wants to see you at once! At - at once, she said!”

Subira raises a hand in an attempt to keep the her there for a moment longer, but the servant is already retreating from the cabin. Somewhere in the mess of words she thought she heard ‘Herald’ but shrugs it off and chalks it up to the elf being nervous.

After returning all of her possessions - noting that she feels like there’s something missing, but cannot fathom what that would be - to her person and redressing, she presses her ear to the door.

All of these people want a glimpse at her and it’s unnerving. Her skin starts feeling too tight for her body and she backs up, looking for a way out. She opens the window to her right and creeps out, landing on the ground silently.

She turns to look at the woods. No one can see her from here. She could take off right now and never be seen again, find Castelleta, maybe cut off her hand...

“Going somewhere, are you?” A familiar Orlesian voice sounds out behind her and she jumps, spinning around to face the woman smirking underneath her cowl.

Subira pins her with a scowl. “No, I... just didn’t want to deal with the crowd out front,” she half-lies, focusing on the Left Hands cheek and not her eyes. “I could hear them through the door.”

The woman nods, seemingly chewing this over. “So, you aren’t considering running into those woods right now and finding someone named... what was it...” she smiles coyly. “Cas?”

Her eyes widen and for a moment, just like that day in the dungeon, they appear alight. It’s gone before Leliana can inspect further, just as before, and Subira is storming towards the older woman.

“How do you know that name?”

The woman only raises a brow. Quietly, she replies, “You said it while you were injured. And while we treated you after the Breach... you said many things.”

Subira turns and takes a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. “Fine, yes! I was thinking about running. Can you blame me?”

“Not at all, actually.”

Subira seems to be cut-short. “I - what?”

“I don’t blame you at all for wanting to run. Come, sit with me. I shall tell you a story,” the older woman lays a blanket on the ground and sits on it cross legged, patting the space next to her with a wink. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”

“I do,” she serves back, still not trusting any of the people she’s being forced to cooperate with.

She sits down on the blanket as far from the older woman as she can.

“I believe we are not so different, you and I,” Sister Nightingale says dramatically. “I’ve known many who were running just like you.”

Subira’s eyes widen. “I - I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

When the girl says nothing else, the other woman takes it as a sign to begin.

The red haired woman takes a breath. “Once, a young woman was a romantic. Oh, how passionate she was! In love with windswept hair and being carried up stairs, singing on balconies! The places she wanted to go!

“But she was the daughter of a servant, taken in and raised by a kind noble woman. Ah, no one noticed a dancing servant. Until someone did.”

Her tone drops in suspense. “Oh, a seductress of a woman, she was. She took this young woman under her wing, told her she had the potential for great things. This woman taught her the art of being a bard. Do you know what a bard does?”

Subira debates on how to answer. “I know what they really do.”

Blue eyes inspect her for a moment. “Hm,” she settles on. “Oh, the dances they danced, the music they sang, the crowds who loved the Mistress’ Nightingale! This Mistress taught her how to wield a dagger between the ribs, to brew the most deadly poisons. The young woman fell in love with the Bard Mistress, and her Mistress with her. Or... so she thought.

“The young woman was on an assignment for her Mistress. ‘Do not open it’, she said - for the first time in a very long time was she instructed not to open an assignment. Upon inspection, it seems her instincts were correct; her lover was selling Orlesian secrets to other countries.”

“That’s treason, isn’t it?” Subira asks quietly.

Their legs are touching now - when did she move closer? She doesn’t even care about the stupid story... though she doesn’t move away. For convenience, she tells herself.

The Left Hand nods with a grim look on her face. “Indeed, it is. And so the young woman went to her lover, begged her to cease her activities. She feared for her Lover’s life, of course. If they caught her, she’d be executed or tortured. Her Mistress told her she’d burn the papers come morning.”

“But she didn’t, did she?” Subira stares at the snowy ground.

“No, she didn’t. Her Mistress framed the young woman, forging the papers to seem as if it were her lover who sold the secrets of the Empire. She was taken from Orlais to where she was tortured, until a kind Revered Mother snuck her out and provided safe haven in Valence. She hid, soon traveling to the chantry in Lothering to serve as a Lay Sister for a long time. The young woman lived in fear. She never wanted to see her ex-lover again.”

“It wasn’t the last the... woman saw of her though, right? She came back.” Subira digs her toe into the snow, looking at Leliana intently.

There’s a pause. “Yes,” followed by an intake of breath. “The Mistress became obsessed. She became convinced that her former student was plotting retaliation, when all she wanted was to get away.”

“The story is sad, Sister,” The younger of the two starts. “But why share it with me?”

“I told you because you want to run, to get away. You’re scared. I understand,” the woman reaches out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind the teenagers ear but the girl flinches, and she retracts her hand. “we can only protect you if you’re here. If you run, if you’re on the road, we cannot keep you safe.”

“I don’t need anyone to keep me safe,” she says hotly. “I’ve done just fine on my own.”

“I’m not saying you do,” the older woman soothes. “But times are strained. It may be in your best interests to stay. After all, I was taught best. If you run,” she stands up. “There is nowhere you can go that I wouldn’t find you.”

“You can try, _puttana-!”_

The insult is out of her mouth before her tongue catches up with her brain and immediately she steels herself for a hit.

“Do you truly expect me to strike you?” The voice isn’t angry. Inquisitive, more like.

“You are an unknown. I trust but one person with my life and I do not even know where she is. So, Left Hand, that question is not for me to answer, but for you.” Subira makes her way to her feet, wincing with her bruised side. “After all, I would not know either way. Is there someone beyond your mask?”

Leliana feels her eyes widen slightly in surprise, and then narrow. Subira smirks.

“By the way, that painting you keep? Of the birds? Gorgeous work.”

The former lay sister is momentarily stunned. Then, she feels a tug on her tunic and looks down. When she looks back up, the child is gone.

Amused and intrigued, she murmurs, _“Damn.”_

* * *

Subira approaches the door hesitantly. They’re arguing - she can hear it. She should just turn around and run away. These people don’t truly need her to do... whatever they plan on doing here, anyway.

Despite the fear creeping up her spine, she inches closer. The voices beyond the door begin to travel with more clarity as she gets within opening distance.

_“Have you gone completely mad? She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.”_

Roderick, then.

A deeply accented voice disagrees with him. _“I do not believe the child is guilty, Chancellor.”_

Seeker Pentaghast is... defending her?

She can hear a sneer in his voice when he speaks now. _“The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way.”_

The Seeker makes an annoyed noise, muffled through the door. _“I do not believe that is true.”_

_“That is not for you to decide! Your duty is to serve the Chantry!”_

All Subira hears is ‘your duty is to listen to me’. It appears Seeker Pentaghast hears similarly, because she replies as though her patience is running thin.

(Idly, she wonders why someone like the Seeker even has to take orders from him, but decides to think more about Chantry intricacies and politics later.)

 _“My duty,”_ a pause, probably the Seeker trying not to strangle the man. _“is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours.”_

Taking a deep breath, Subira decides to open the door.

Chancellor Roderick turns to her. “Chain her. I want her to be prepared for travel immediately!”

Two Templars take her arms and she tenses, opening her mouth to tell them in no uncertain terms that _no, thank you, she will not be going with them_ \- but someone comes to her rescue.

“Disregard that, and leave us!” Seeker Pentaghast orders.

The Templars release her, salute in unison and shut the door on their way out. Subira brushes herself off with a nervous shudder before placing herself in the shadowy part of the room.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker!”

The Seeker glares. “The Breach is stable, but still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

“Let me guess... you need my help,” Subira says warily.

Chancellor Roderick turns on her. “Don’t think I have forgotten you! You have done plenty. Your actions will be taken into account by the new Divine.”

She backs up subconsciously, noting that both the other women in the room take protective steps towards where she and Roderick face off.

That could be useful. Then she’s startled by another thought - if she hadn’t been actively looking for anything out of the ordinary, she wouldn’t have noticed the silent woman on the other side of the table. Maker, Leliana really can be quiet. _She’ll have to pay more attention for quiet, annoying Chantry women._

“Remember who our enemies are, Chancellor,” the Seeker says impatiently. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

Leliana finally steps forward to speak. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others - or have allies who yet live.”

The Chancellor recoiled. “ _I_ am a suspect?!

Leliana doesn’t change, calm and unwavering as ever. “You, and many others. We want answers just as much as you do, Chancellor.”

He seems to not hear her. “But not the _prisoner!?”_

“I heard the voices at the Temple. Most Holy called out to her for help,” The Seeker defends.

Subira decides staying quiet for this argument is the most wise decision.

“So her survival, the mark on her hand - all a coincidence?”

The mark, as if knowing it was being mentioned, sparks to life vaguely. Enough to create pinpricks of heat in her hand and she clenched her jaw, pressing her hand into her tunic.

“Not coincidence,” the Seeker corrects, _“providence._ The Maker sent her to us at our darkest time.”

Subira stares at her like she’s grown two heads and her previous decision of staying quiet is thrown out the window.

“So, what?” She crosses her arms. “Five minutes ago you want me dead, but now that the mark is convenient for you I’m allowed to live? Now I’m your savior?”

Both the Seeker and Leliana stifle a sigh. They’d known that wouldn’t go over well, but had hoped they could prevent it for a little while longer. Unfortunately not.

“The Breach remains,” Leliana reminds softly. “And the mark is the only means of closing it.”

Subira stares before huffing and backing off.

“That is not for you to decide,” Chancellor Roderick hisses in reply.

His angry noises have gotten more guttural, she’s noticed. Perhaps he needs to sleep. Or cough. Maybe both?

In her musing she failed to notice that the Seeker was about to slam a tome onto the table until she did, startling her.

“You know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn!”

Continuing with her momentum, she storms into Chancellor Roderick’s personal space. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval!” She pokes him in the chest for emphasis.

Chancellor Roderick snorts with disgust and rushes out of the room.

She eyes the book on the table with as much distrust as she does the woman who had placed it there.

Leliana shakes her head, unaware of or willfully ignoring the girls growing suspicion.

“This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of Old. Find those who can stand against the chaos,” she rubs her temples. “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

The Seeker turns to Subira. “We need you to join us.”

 _“Me?”_ Subira laughs incredulously. “I am a child thrust into the middle of a holy war.”

The redhead gives Subira a long, measured look. “Remember our... talk.”

Subira smiles until the points of her teeth are visible.

“Fine.”

She shakes the Seeker’s hand. “I owe Varric a drink, so as long as I can leave-?”

“Hold on!” Seeker Pentaghast demands. “You are too young to drink.”

The young girl grins wryly. “No parents, no rules.”

The Seeker looks uncomfortable and opens her mouth to speak but closes it. Her counterpart steps forward.

“While you’re here, I’d say you’re considered under our care. It would be hazardous to the Inquisition’s reputation to allow you to openly drink.”

“So what are you saying? I have to listen to you all now?” She crosses her arms and raises her chin defiantly.

“Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying.”

She chuckles, earning an eyebrow raise from Leliana. “Forget it. I’ve lived my entire life without being told what to do. If it helps, I’ll water it down.”

She slips from the room faster than they can keep her and the Seeker sighs. “This is going to be quite the journey, isn’t it, Leliana?” Her fingers come up to rub her temples.

Leliana smiles. “Indeed, Cassandra. Look at the bright side,” she offers, patting her colleague on the shoulder. “We may be able to parent that child yet!”

Cassandra only groans to the sound of Leliana’s laughter.

* * *

Subira plops down next to Varric without a word, startling him.

“ _Makers balls,_ Spitfire! Warn me next time.”

“It’s more fun that way,” she shrugs. “Didn’t I owe you a drink?”

“I’m pretty sure that the Seeker will have my head if I allow you to drink.” Subira just looks at him with an eyebrow raised.

Varric raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Don’t stare at me like that, kid. It’s unnerving.”

After ambling off, a few minutes later he returns successful: with a mug of more-ale-than-water for himself, and a mug of more-water-than-ale for her. She doesn’t complain and drinks quietly.

“What’s your name, anyway?”

She hesitates. She has not used this name in many months. “Anita.”

“Anita.” He nods. “Pleased to meet you, Anita. Now that the Seeker is out of earshot... how are you doing?”

The girl frowns around her mug, staring into the fire. “What do you mean?”

“Most people don’t go from being no one to the most wanted person in Thedas to the ‘Herald of Andraste’ in one day.”

“They’re calling me what? I thought that elf had just lost it,” she mutters.

“Oh, you... hadn’t heard about that yet?” Varric rubs the back of his neck.

“No,” She grits her teeth. “Not really. But it’s... fine. I guess. And I’m fine. This is nothing.”

Varric whistles. “You have balls to make it this far, kid.”

“Or dumb luck,” she suggests with a shrug.

“Or that,” he agrees, raising his mug to toast her.

She eyes him before rolling her eyes and smiling slightly, toasting his mug and taking a drink.

“I just wish I was back on the road,” she says. “I miss seeing the stars every night. Though, I don’t miss the bears. Or the thugs. Or the cold. Actually, maybe I don’t wish I was back on the road so much.”

“You been... uh, alone, your entire life?” Varric asks.

“Yes,” she says, looking down. “My mother had me while living in Rivain, I was told. She brought me to an Antivan orphanage when I was really young for one reason or another and vanished.”

Varric contemplates this, sipping his ale. She shrugs.

“It’s never bothered me. I mean, anyone who didn’t stick around isn’t worth my time, right? I don’t remember any of it, anyway.”

She stares distantly into her cup. Her life swirls in the contents, distorted and unclear.

“Is that why you speak more Antivan than Rivaini?”

She nods, still not looking at him. “I’ve spent most of my life in Antiva. I can speak Rivaini just fine, but...”

“Antiva is home,” he offers, taking a deep drink.

She nods again.

“Maybe storytime can happen another night,” she says suddenly.

“Yeah, yeah of course, Spitfire. I’m always here. Come see me whenever,” he says with an easy smile.

She returns it half heartedly, handing him the mug and standing, walking towards the Apothecary. Outside of the cabin at the far end of the path, boxes are piled on top of each other and there sits Solas, quietly observing the night sky.

“Ah, the Chosen of Andraste: a blessed hero sent to save us all,” he quips, turning to look at her before returning his attention above them.

“Oh? Am I riding in on a shining steed, too?” She mock-pouts.

“I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they’re extinct. Joke as you will, but posturing is necessary,” Solas, ever the pragmatic.

“Oh? Is it? I don’t remember ever signing up to be a Holy symbol, so I wouldn’t know,” she says in irritation.

Solas smiles in a way that fits his namesake. “Indeed, young one, it is. I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious as to what kind you’ll be.”

“These wars and heroes of civilizations are ages past. I have seen as you have seen,” His eyebrows raise. “Why assume I’ll be a hero at all, Master Solas?”

Solas chuckles not... warmly, but maybe something close to it.

“Solas is fine, young one. And because, it is decided for you. The makings of a hero are yet on their way,” he smiles gently, eyes sad. “And unfortunately, heroism doesn’t always mean what we want it to mean. Remember that.”

Subira smiles tightly and they exchange farewells, promising to see each other tomorrow when they set off. She leaves him to his stargazing, thinking hard about what Solas said.

She weaves through the paths of Haven until she’s out in the woods, on a dock overlooking a frozen lake. The moons shine brightly overhead and the wind blows through the trees with a soft whistling. She didn’t hear the soft, but barely noticeable crunching of snow behind her.

“Would Andraste save me if I threw myself into this river?” She challenges, looking up at the sky. “What would the world do without their unwilling hero once again?”

She lets her legs dangle and places her elbows on her knees, palms holding her face up. She feels the overwhelmed tears well up in her eyes and sniffles.

“I suppose, then, that I would have to dive in after you and pray you survive.”

The deep Nevarran voice startles her nearly off of the dock and she breathes heavily, wiping her eyes without turning.

Warily, she asks, “I didn’t hear you approach, Seeker. Am I needed in Haven?”

Cassandra attempts to stand non-imposingly in case she turns around. “No, I simply saw you leave and wished to ensure your safety.”

The young girl scowls, standing, “You should return to Haven. I can protect myself.”

The Nevarran snorts outright and Subira glares, “What?”

“You are standing before a frozen lake, challenging the Maker’s bride in a test of fate.” She deadpans.

“I can protect myself from things that matter,” she mutters, turning back to the lake.

The older woman behind her frowns. “That does matter. Do you know what would happen-“

“I know what would happen!” She explodes. “The fate of Thedas is resting on my shoulders and I don’t want it! I didn’t ask for any of this! I have people looking to me for answers when all they’re going to find is a damn screw up!”

She stomps her foot and the ice below the dock cracks. It might not have been the most mature decision, but damn did it feel good.

The Seekers face remains impassive, but her sympathy is clear in her eyes. Cassandra walks forward and goes to put her hand on the teenagers shoulder.

“Having responsibility is frightening-“

 _“It isn’t responsibility I’m scared of,”_ she snarls. Turning to face the Seeker and displacing her hand in the process, “I took care of us on the road. Me! I tempted guards into the night and I shed their blood. I took their money and I fed us when we were hungry!”

The Seeker frowns. “I do not blame you. This is all new and frightening. Having so many depend on you is not comforting. That is why I came to tell you that they are not depending on you,” she crouches, placing her hand on her shoulder. “They are depending on us. So long as you are here, we are all going to work together. It will not be just you.”

Subira looks away and takes a deep breath. “Alright.”

The Seeker nods once before turning to leave.

“Seeker?”

Cassandra turns. “Yes?”

“Anita. Call me Anita.”

“Very well, Anita. It is getting late, I suggest retiring before it is too cold.” She walks away into the warm light of Haven, her tall silhouette disappearing.

“Why do I not feel better?” She asks the sky.

The sky does not answer. Subira returns to her cabin and stares at the ceiling until a fitful rest takes her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations ~  
> puttana - whore, bitch


	3. Heart of Silverite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira has some traveling time with her new companions and learns that she really dislikes being close to people. Absolutely.  
> And that she needs to sleep more.

The next day, Subira finds herself walking side by side with Seeker Pentaghast in the Chantry after an early rise with certain apostate.

He went over many things with her but she mostly tuned him out. The mark stings in her hand and shoulder and she lifts her hand to inspect it idly as they walk.

“Does it trouble you?”

The question snaps her out of her trance and she makes a fist, returning it to her side. “No, it doesn’t.”

Cassandra eyes her suspiciously. “...That’s a relief,” the older woman settles on. “Solas said-“

“I know,” Subira interjects, not unkindly. “Solas and I had tea early this morning. He and I discussed the mark and what we need to do.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Though, I wonder what harm there could be, powering up something we barely understand?”

“Hold on to that sense of humor, Anita. I’m sure you’ll need it in the months to come.” They’ve reached the door now.

“I’m sure I will,” Subira mutters.

* * *

Cassandra clears her throat when they enter the room. “May I present Commander Cullen, Leader of the Inquisitions Forces.”

A man with curly blonde hair and a fluffy mantle stands before them, eyes red-rimmed like the rest of them; an indication of many nights of no rest. She assumes he’s supposed to look charming, but then his mantle moves and her eyes widen at the Templar insignia plastered on his breastplate.

Anita barely holds back the snarl. _“Charmed,”_ she smiles, all teeth.

 _“This,”_ Cassandra hurries to move on. “is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our Ambassador and Chief Diplomat.”

She is an Antivan woman, with black hair in a neat bun and deep brown skin; a lovely bronze accentuated by the gold in her outfit.

_Montilyet... yes, she knows that family. She’ll have to be careful around her._

Anita, to the surprise of Cassandra, curtsies and tips her head in greeting. “Pleasure to meet you, Lady Montilyet.”

The Antivan woman’s eyes light up at the proper greeting.

“And of course, you’ve met Sister Leliana,” Seeker Pentaghast says.

“My position here requires a bit...”

“Based on the hood, dark demeanor and inability to smile, I have to guess... you’re the Spymaster, right?” Anita raises a daring eyebrow.

They all exchange glances. “Tactfully put. Yes, I am.”

Cassandra clears her throat. “I introduce to you, Anita.”

“This is an impressive bunch of titles. All for little old me?” Anita bats her eyelashes.

Leliana rolls her eyes while Lady Montilyet laughs. “To the matter at hand?”

“Yes, right. We’ve all discussed that your mark needs more power to close the Breach,” The Seeker starts.

Leliana steps in, “Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help.”

She shrugs. Seems like an okay course of action to her.

But of course, that dumb Templar has to open his dumb Templar mouth.

“And I still disagree! The Templars could serve just as well.”

The snort makes its way out of Anita’s mouth before she can stop it.

Without breaking her thought, eyeing the teenager, the Seeker continues. “We need _power,_ Commander. Enough magic poured into that Breach-“

 _“-Might destroy us all!_ The Templars could suppress the Breach-“

“That’s pure speculation, Commander.” Leliana reminds calmly.

Anita holds up a hand. “Hold on,” she says directly to Commander Cullen in an incredulous tone. “Are you serious?”

“Excuse me?” The Commander sputters.

“I mean, you have to be horribly misinformed to not know what you’re talking about so grossly,” she says. “If you attempt to suppress a source of magic that big, it’d be catastrophic. No doubt even larger than the last explosion that was caused.”

“How - Why is she-?”

Anita laughs. “Anyway, if you want my opinion, and you’re going to get it anyway because of,” she waves her marked hand around. “This, then I want to go to the rebel mages. I won’t be stepping _one foot_ near the Templars.”

“Unfortunately,” Lady Montilyet intervenes, _“Neither_ group will speak with us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition. _You,_ specifically.”

“Have they forgotten that there is more to be worried about?” She scratches her head absentmindedly. “That didn’t take long.”

The Commander groans. “Shouldn’t they be arguing over who’s going to become the next Divine and _not_ the teenager?”

“Some are calling you - a child, especially one that does not hail from the South - The Herald of Andraste. That frightens them.”

“I heard about that. All I have to say is: _what the-“_

“Anita, do _not_ finish that sentence.” Seeker Pentaghast warns.

“Fine,”

Cassandra nods and before Lady Montilyet can continue speaking, she takes a deep breath and says instead:

_“Kedu ụdị iberibe?”_

It’s quiet. None of them know Rivaini, and so the only way to translate what she said is by way of tone.

Based on the way she spat the words out, it wasn’t anything pleasant.

Tentatively, Lady Josephine continues. “The remaining clerics are calling it blasphemy, and us heretics for harboring you.”

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Seeker Pentaghast says with disgust.

“It limits our options. Approaching either group for help is currently out of the question.”

“Not necessarily,” Anita says thoughtfully, drawing the attention of each adult in the room. “I have... favors I can potentially call in. A discussion for another time,” she waves a hand, “about this _‘Herald of Andraste’_ business?”

“People saw what you did at the Temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing-“

Anita furrows her brow, confused.

“-They have also heard of the woman who was seen behind you when you were first found. They believe that was Andraste.”

She nods, considering it. “Yeah, _definitely_ not Andraste.”

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading-“

“Which we have not,” Seeker Pentaghast reminds Sister Leliana.

Blue eyes pierce green. “The point is, everyone is talking about you.”

The underlying message hits loud and clear:

_Everyone is watching now._

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about it?”

Anita gazes at the Commander with a bored expression.

“I’m no Herald of anything,” she shrugs. “And definitely not of Andraste. She’s never helped me.”

Commander Cullen doesn’t seem to note the hostility in her voice. “I’m sure the Chantry would agree.”

“People are desperate for a sign of hope,” Leliana points out, “For some, you are that hope.”

Lady Montilyet debates her next words. “For others, you’re a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong.”

The laugh that erupts from the young girl startles them. “Anyway,” She recovers quickly, taking a deep breath. “They aren’t concerned about the Breach?”

The Commander chuckles. “Oh, they know it’s a threat. They just don’t think we can stop it.”

Lady Montilyet adds, “The Chantry is telling everyone who will listen that you’ll make it worse.”

“However,” Leliana says. “There is something you can do. A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She’s not far, and knows those involved far better than I.”

“Let me guess,” Anita sighs, cracking her knuckles. “This isn’t optional and I’m heading off to go speak with her?”

“That is exactly what I’m getting at.” Leliana continues to look emotionlessly from behind her hood.

“While you’re there, look for opportunities to extend the Inquisition’s influence,” the Commander says.

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you’ll be able to reach them.” Lady Montilyet adds.

“In the meantime,” Cassandra interjects. “Let us look at other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.”

“Mhm, no,” Anita says, turning to face Cassandra.

“What? What is it?”

“The ‘Herald’ thing. You’re going to have to not call me that.”

* * *

The group set off two days later - Anita, Cassandra, Varric and the mage, Solas. The Seeker kept a close eye on the teenager, who looked over her shoulder as if on a time dial and fidgeted with the handles of the daggers hooked to her waist.

They are two days into their journey, and she hasn’t threatened Varric. _Yet._ Cassandra calls that diplomacy, no matter what Josephine says.

Varric snapped her out of her musings. “Um, Seeker?”

She groans. “Ugh, what, Varric?”

“The kid seems to have disappeared-“

Cassandra stops point-blank and Solas nearly walks straight into her.

_“What?!”_

Turning this way and that, indeed, it seemed that Anita had disappeared.

_How long had she been gone for?!_

“Well, you see, she went off a little bit ago, and she said she’d be back soon, so I figured-“

Between anger and utter confusion, she turns to tear Varric another one when there’s a rustling to their right.

 _“Relax,_ I’m right here,” the girl mutters, pushing through the brush.

Cassandra storms up to her.

“Where did you go?” She demands, looking her over for injury.

 _“First,_ kindly remove yourself from my face,” she says, hands out in front of her as if to ward the Seeker off. “Second, I was tracking something big. I believe I injured it, though I am unsure. It’s ahead, there’s a clearing.”

“And how do you know this?” The Seeker’s tone is impatient.

“I climbed a tree.”

The girl turns on her heel, simple hunting bow in hand and off in the direction of... whatever she was tracking.

“Herald... _Herald!”_ Cassandra calls after her.

“I told you to call me Anita!” Is the echoing reply.

The teenager is already twenty paces ahead of them, not looking back. The Seeker groans and starts after her, Solas merely smiles to himself and Varric does what he does best; observes.

After all, the best history is written by the bystanders.

* * *

With the deer Subira took down, they had much left over to munch on the third morning and third night. It ran out quickly when shared with the rest of the Inquisition Scouts who met up with them, but more scouts meant more hunting anyway.

That was on the third night. Now, it was the sixth night, going onto the seventh day. Subira was wide awake. She had mapped out every inch of the camp; escape routes, choke points, blind spots, everything.

Always with a cautious hand on the hilt of her daggers as she prowled. The Inquisition Scouts who were on guard were slightly unnerved by the way she stalked around camp, but because of the nature of her position they said nothing.

By the time the sun rose over the horizon she had bitten her lip in thought enough to draw blood, smeared slightly onto her chin during her long night.

Subira wondered, leaning up against a tree as the pale moonlight receded and the milky dawn began to rise, how her companions (if they could be called such) would react to her odd sleeping habits. _Or lack thereof, rather._

She’ll admit it, she’s a bit paranoid. One too many late night bandit raids onto her camps when on the road had lead to this.

And, considering the volatile nature of the mark, it’s connection to the fade and her capability as a dream walker, she’d rather not test her luck with sleeping right now.

Being a mage means that dreams are vivid as it is, but being particularly apt in fadewalking when there’s a magical mark on your hand as a mage?

Definitely a recipe for disaster. She’ll wait it out until she has to sleep, and then she’ll navigate the fade herself. Plus, she’s fairly sure that Solas is what is referred to as a _“somniari”,_ and Subira decided she’d really rather him not be dragged into her dreams on accident.

Though, speak of the devil and he shall appear...

“Anita,” Solas greets, startling her out of her thoughts.

 _“Maker,_ Solas!”

He smiles with one corner of his mouth. “My apologies. I simply noticed you were awake and wondered if you would indulge me in a trek through the woods?”

She thinks on it for a second. She has nothing else to do, and maybe he’ll have good insight for her. “Sure.”

“Wait a moment, _da’len._ You just have a bit of...” he produces a cloth from... somewhere, and holds it out to her, pointing to her lip.

The moment she touches it she hisses. “Damn it all, that hurts.”

He chuckles. “I imagine it does. How does one split their lip in the night, I wonder?”

She sighs, wiping it and her chin clean. “When I’m nervous I bite my lip. I suppose in my worrying, I bit a little too hard.”

He hums and doesn’t reply, turning to the forest and starting forward. She follows his carefully placed footsteps. The forest is peaceful and serene this early in the morning, with no light seeping through the trees yet.

“You are resilient,” Solas says when they’re a good ways in the forest, stopping to observe the flora. “You have lived a hard life.”

She fidgets under his observations. “Haven’t we all?”

He smiles ruefully. “Yes, but not as you have,” he looks up at the trees towering above them. “I will stay.”

She raises a brow. “Was that in question?”

He laughs quietly. “I was not sure how an apostate mage would be received here.”

She frowns. “If I had to, I’d protect you.”

“Oh? And how would you do that, _da’len?”_ He smiles.

Her eyes harden and her fingertips spark. “Through any means necessary.”

“Ah, yes. Let our minds not wander. I brought you out here because I wished to see what your... specialties are,” he holds up a finger before she can interrupt. “I have seen your skills as a rogue. I mean your other skills.”

“I...” She looks away. “I can’t practice, Solas.”

He raises a brow. “Why not? I myself am an apostate mage.”

She thinks of the people she’s protecting. “I just can’t.”

Nodding, he processes that with a hum. “It does not mean you would not benefit from my tutelage.”

“I don’t know...”

“Think on it,” he urges. He looks to the sky. “It is still dark. You could show me something of your skills.”

She shifts from foot to foot. “I... sure.”

She takes a steadying breath and closes her eyes. The sticky webbing of the Veil settles around her and she twists it, striking out with her fist. A large impact is left in the tree in front of her.

Solas looks impressed. “You showed great restraint. Why?”

“I’ve seen what I can do unrestrained,” she gives a small, uncertain smile. “I figured that was better. With all the magical energy pent up in my body...”

He nods. “You are powerful, _da’len._ Do not forget the magic in you.”

They make their way back and Subira has a lot to think about, contemplating Solas’ words. She returns to leaning on the tree from before, noting that the sun is peaking through the trees now.

Eventually, people started rising and beginning their day. The next guard shift rotates and she pushes off of the tree, silently removing her weapons and entering the tent she shared with the Seeker without a sound, knowing that she was working with very little time.

Having observed Seeker Pentaghast since she arrived, she knew that she rose with the sun and only went to bed when everything to be done was finished in its entirety. Her routine was always the same; rise, drills, eat, and continue.

She places the sheathed daggers at the end of her bedroll on top of her belongings, keeping only one weapon on her (or, under her pillow, but close enough to arm herself) and slipping into the bedroll as quietly as possible, feigning sleep.

As predicted, moments later Seeker Pentaghast woke up. The Seeker followed the same routine this morning as she had the others. She left moments after her morning prayer and for a long while, Subira simply laid in her bedroll thinking - until she heard Cassandra become closer again.

Hastily getting ready for the day, she throws her satchel over her shoulder and straps the knife she kept under her pillow onto her arm. Double-checking that her self-brewed poisons and healing concoctions were on her person, she sighed and left the tent, greeted with the sight of Solas in deep meditation and Varric shining his crossbow.

“Great! Everyone’s awake. We should be ready to go within a candlemark,” she calls. Varric waves a hand and she thinks she sees Solas tip his head slightly, which is good enough for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations!  
> Kedu ụdị iberibe - what the fuck?  
> somniari - turns out this is Tevinter for 'dream walker' or those with affinity for fade talents etc so I’ve gotten p-p-pranked


	4. I Found Myself Hating the Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Seeker ponders the child now under her protection. Subira and Cassandra have a disagreement.

Cassandra finds herself observing Anita far more - the endless circles under her eyes, the blank stares and dry humor to evade any topic.

She thinks somewhat fondly on her, knowing that she had accidentally adopted motherly feelings toward this child. Internally though, she felt disgruntled, as children were not a topic she ever something she looked on with fondness - far too many Pentaghast ideals fell around children and how many a woman could pop out to preserve bloodlines.

But this, also, was not something she wished to think of - if the problem was not one she could punch or stick her sword in, she found no point in putting thought into it.

She can tell Anita needs to sleep. She’s seen the little that she eats and she knows that the girl is hiding something. Whether that ‘something’ is related to the Breach or not?

The only one who could truly say is the Maker, and He doesn’t seem keen on giving any hints. Sometimes she wonders why Anita won’t speak more to them - to her - and is often disappointed when she turns over on her side in their tent but is laying awake.

It’s puzzling to say the least and this is all introspection about her relationship with a teenager! Of all frivolous things, she’s wondering what a _teenager_ thinks of her. It’s not that she cares, per say. But being on more amicable terms with the girl certainly couldn’t hurt, what with how volatile her and Leliana’s relationship currently is. She nearly rolls her eyes just thinking about it.

She does her musing while observing the setting sun. It takes approximately ten days to set into the Hinterlands to get to the Crossroads, and so far they are on day seven. Soon they will begin their first official Inquisition Mission: _Approach the Revered Mother Giselle._ Idly she wonders how that may go, given Anita’s... innate ability to agitate authority figures. Or their ability to set Anita off, depending on how one looks at it.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees that Anita is standing in the middle of the stream they’re camping by. Water rises up to her knees and aside from gentle splashing when she shifts, all is still. With her eyes closed and head tipped upwards, arms spread wide, she seems to be accepting the sky itself into her. A glow settles around the teenager, soft and reverent. For a moment, Cassandra’s breath is taken away and she is reminded why they are calling her the Herald of Andraste.

The moment is over as soon as it began, because Anita’s eyes open and ever vigilant, notices her watching. The content look is replaced with a blank scowl and she gracefully - as best as one can in knee-high water - exits the stream. The girl sits in front of the small fire they’ve built and unsheathes a small, well-worn knife.

What surprises the older woman is that she takes out what looks like a half piece of widdled wood and begins gently picking at it with the knife, focusing intently.

“I did not know you carved,” Cassandra comments.

Anita’s hand slips and instead of the clean cut that was meant for the wood, the skin of her finger received it. The girl barely reacts to what must’ve hurt a lot, only cursing in Rivaini under her breath and dropping the wood onto the ground.

She replies flatly, “You do not know a great many things about me.”

The girl is all bite and scowl, fluffing up her feathers in an attempt to seem bigger even when there isn’t a threat. Her finger bleeds as she looks for something to wrap it with, becoming more frustrated and going to rip her shirt.

“Allow me?” Kneeling in front of her, Cassandra has a cloth in one hand and flask of water in the other, reaching for the bleeding finger.

Anita scowls and pulls away. “I can handle it myself, thank you.”

Cassandra sighs. “Must you bleed away in the name of your stubbornness?”

Anita concedes only slightly, turning to the older woman with a stormy expression on her face. As she begins to gently pour water on the wound, she speaks.

“It occurred to me I do not know much about you, Her - _Anita._ ”

Anita laughs in response, startling Cassandra. Out of all responses, a laugh was not the first one ( _or the second, third, fourth and so on_ ) she expected.

“I know, Seeker. It’s intentional.”

Cassandra pauses her work, looking up at the child. Her lips are pursed and she’s looking anywhere but the Seeker.

“Why is that?”

Anita looks at her incredulously.

“I am serious, I assure you. Humor me.” She returns to the act of gently cleaning her finger, trying to assess if the split flesh will need stitches or perhaps Solas’ healing if they can get it quickly enough.

The girl takes a moment before speaking in a voice Cassandra has never heard her use.

“It’s better this way. Trust me.”

The words are practically mumbled, but they’re there. Anita looks at the ground, brows furrowed.

“Is that right?"

Anita nods firmly.

“Is it better this way to protect others, or better this way to protect yourself?”

Olive green eyes fly up to her. But then she settles on something in the distance and her eyes harden, looking away again.

One hand is absentmindedly rubbing her thigh. “It protects everyone involved.”

She wraps the finger in the piece of cloth and determines that all it needs is a bit of healing. She sits next to the girl tentatively, unsure if this will go well.

“I am Cassandra Pentaghast, I have served two Divine’s in my time and I hail from Nevarra-“

Her words startle Anita out of deep thought. “What?”

“I said-“

“I heard you, I heard you,” she takes a deep breath. “Why?”

Cassandra allows a small one-sided smile. It tugs at the scar on her face.

“To show you that it is not always damning to be vulnerable.”

Anita is quiet. Her breaths are shallow as she stares at the ground contemplatively.

“Good evening, Seeker,” She says quietly. “Thank you for this talk. I will reflect on it.”

Cassandra counts it as a success.

* * *

Three more sleepless nights and now Subira wanders the forest in the pale light of the barely-morning rays. Far too tired to stumble into their tent and shuffle into her bedroll, she’ll simply tell the Seeker she rose early if questioned. Though she doubts she will. The most the Seeker will do is scold her for wandering off so early when no one is awake.

The Seeker. A baffling woman. Why would one so intimidating and closed off and absolutely unapproachable... approach her?

Subira can’t wrap her head around it. This woman, who has no idea who she is or what she’s done, where she’s been, who she’s been, whose she’s been - is beginning to trust her. Is beginning to like her, to have... reluctantly she’ll call it affection for her - because there is no ‘caring’ in this equation, not for her and not in the middle of an Inquisition - and she doesn’t like it. Attachment has never worked out well and the only reason Castelleta and Herah and Michalis are so stuck to her is because they refused to leave.

This idea of attachment, of forming real bonds with people and being unable to leave: It scares her.

Today, they will talk to Mother Giselle and see what there is to be done about this little Inquisition of theirs. She’s nervous -really, really nervous - because any and all Chantry Mothers she’s spoken with have all said the same thing:

_“You’re not welcome here, beg somewhere else!”_

_“Dirty child, away from the steps!”_

Or some variation of the two. Or, a third variation in which they imply she has diseases and that she comes from a whore.

No Chantry Mother has ever wanted to help her, that’s for sure. Maybe with the end of the world on their doorstep, this Mother Giselle will want to be extra cooperative.

_“Spitfire!”_

Time to go, then.

“Coming, short stuff!”

A hearty laugh. That’s what she loves about Varric; that despite his embellishment, so much of him is hollow and fake. She sees it in the sadness in his eyes and his words, in his laughter.

_In his loneliness._

They’re alike in that way. She supposes, though, that she has something alike with everyone she’s encountered so far.

But Varric? Just like Anita - _crow, anonymous, one of many_ \-  isn’t her name, Varric used to be someone else too.

Seeker Pentaghast is up by the time she makes it back to their deconstructed camp, only looking mildly annoyed.

“Enjoy your morning stroll?” The scowl on her face tells Subira that that question is rhetorical.

Subira flashes her most charming smile. “Yes, quite. It’s very refreshing, Seeker. You should try it.”

The only response she gets is an annoyed noise.

* * *

Over a week into the Hinterlands for what? For a nun to tell her to go to Orlais and tell a group of people ready to run her through with pitchforks to play nice. Subira is grumpy as they leave and everyone can tell.

The only consolation is that she gets to return to the Hinterlands to help the refugees she intended to assist. Even then, she herself told the Scouts to help in any way they could, as long as it didn’t interfere with their post. She didn’t feel like incurring Leliana’s wrath.

Her caveat to returning is that she has to be careful about rebel mages and her appearance. She’s deep in thought, planning how she can help the refugees in the Crossroads and their next trip when Varric steals her attention.

“Hey, Spitfire!” Varric calls. “Be careful! There’s Templars in this area!”

Subira turns to call back that _the Templars should be careful because she’s in the area,_ when she steps into a trap and a startled yell leaves her mouth as she darts out of the resulting fire.

The skin on her leg is blistered, sizzling and raw peeking through her leggings. Forcing back nausea she focuses on anger and draws her blades, turning towards the first sound she hears, leg faltering under her weight.

Behind her, she hears Varric shouting and Seeker Pentaghast demanding she stand down and fall back, but all she feels is _anger._

Body thrumming as a conduit of magical energy, she faces her opponent head on. Vaguely she feels the cool cloaking of a barrier and the distinct signature of Solas’ magic.

The Templar in question isn’t alone, but she has eyes only for him. She snarls and darts in to clash with his sword and shield, but flits away and attacks from the other side. Darting behind him and using her momentum to grab onto the Templars armor and swing herself up, twisting until she can grab his helmeted head and yank it back. She ends him with a clean cut across his throat.

He chokes and sputters while she curses him to the grave in three different languages unsteadily before removing herself to join the fight elsewhere. Solas is providing back up to the Seeker, who is taking on one Templar, but another is coming up behind her.

She sprints, ignoring the flaming pain in her leg and yells, gathering his attention. Without breaking stride she lifts one of her bottles, shaking it furiously and giving the Seeker one warning to scatter before smashing it on the ground and retreating to safety.

When they both look back, the men are on the ground choking on their own blood and unable to breathe.

“What is _that?_ ” Varric asks, a little out of breath, collecting any bolts he can.

“Just something I know how to make,” Subira mutters, trying not to focus on the pain in her leg.

“Somethin’ you know how to make? Damn, Spitfire, you’re really holding out on us.”

Ignoring Varric’s lighthearted teasing, she thinks to the men on the ground and the poison she used. Potion would be more accurate - and it’s of her own make. Hopefully they don’t think about that too much.

Cassandra’s voice calls across the camp. “We are going to clear the bodies and camp here tonight.”

Oh, no questions asked then. The Seeker has a firm edge to her tone and Subira is too tired to fight. She goes to help, but Solas puts a hand on her arm.

Solas motions to her leg. “Allow me to look at your injury?”

“Thank you, Solas, but I can handle it myself,” she says pointedly.

He nods in understanding. “At least allow me to help you do this, _da’len,_ ” pointing to the fabric.

Too tired to argue, she concedes. If she weren’t so exhausted, she would’ve thought more about the fact that he called her _‘da’len’._

Varric and Seeker Pentaghast clear the bodies and begin setting up a camp while Solas inspects the burn, carefully separating the burned cloth from her scorched skin. It hurts and tears escape her eyes, but she doesn’t make a sound.

When he has thoroughly separated cloth from scorched skin and poured cold water over the area multiple times, he wraps her leg tightly in a wet cloth. She’s about to protest and then feels the formation of ice crystals on the cloth, soothing the burning skin and giving her relief.

“At least until you can handle it,” he says quietly. “That will keep it clean, and relatively painless.”

She smiles, grateful. “Thank you, Solas.”

He nods before standing and brushing off his knees, retreating to where Varric has just about finished setting up their tent. Gingerly, she makes her way to the tent her and the Seeker will share for the night, dropping her satchel on the ground and rolling out her bedroll.

The Seeker walks in with a stormy expression. “What was that?”

Subira looks up blankly. “What?”

“You did not fall back when we called you, your carelessness allowed you to get injured-“

Subira jumps to her feet, barely hiding the wince. “ _Excuse me?_ My _carelessness?_ It could’ve happened at any point. I was barely that far ahead, and either way, I took him down didn’t I?”

The Seeker paces as she removes pieces of armor, her gauntlets coming off first.

“You are missing the point,” she says thickly, her accent rolling off the tongue differently in her frustration. “You did not listen to direct orders in the field. You endangered yourself and you could’ve lost your life.”

“Yes, yes. And what a tragedy that would’ve been, right? Losing your fucking Herald?” Subira mocks.

“Do not talk to me like that-“

“Or _what,_ Seeker?” Subira’s eyes burn with a challenge and her chin tips up just so.

The Seeker rolls her eyes and makes a disgusted noise, turning away. “Go to bed, Anita.”

“Fuck you.” Subira slings her satchel over her shoulder and walks - as best as possible - out of the tent.

“Anita! _Come back here!”_

Subira doesn’t answer, walking further into the foliage until she can swing into a tree with low hanging branches. Ignoring the Seeker’s angry squawking in the distance, she gently unwraps her leg and hisses when the cool air of the Hinterlands hits the wound.

Assessing the damage is easy and she takes a deep breath, centering her mana and lowering a hand to her wound. From the inside out the skin and tissue heal slowly, leaving only scratchy red marks. The area still stings and she digs through her bag for one of her poultices and applies it liberally, wrapping her leg with the cloth Solas had used.

Taking a deep breath, she leans her weight against the trunk of the tree, looking up at the sky. It’s beginning to make way for night, the moons chasing away the rest of the burning sunlight and she revels in the one normal thing she can count on before dozing off.


	5. When I End Up Pushing Everyone Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension between Subira and her newfound allies.

Cassandra is worried sick, though she would not admit to being so if asked. The Herald didn’t return last night, and as much as she’d like to pretend she’ll return without a doubt, the Seeker isn’t sure. Anita barely trusts them as it is and Cassandra curses her blunt mouth and useless brain for arguing so carelessly with the girl.

It’s early, early in the morning when she returns. Circles under her eyes and red rimmed, she stumbles into their tent and stops at the sight of an awake Seeker.

“Oh. You’re... awake.” She rubs the back of her neck with the marked hand.

“You expected me to be asleep, then?”

“You’re always asleep right now,” is the immediate reply. “And then in probably about... half a candlemark is when you’re awake.”

“I did not know you paid so much attention.” Really, she didn’t. Cassandra is slightly unnerved by it.

“I notice everything.” The girl is swaying on her feet, eyes fluttering shut. Cassandra reaches to steady her and the girl turns away.

“No! I am - Fine!” Even as she says it her accent makes it difficult, and it comes out sounding odd.

“Did you even sleep last night?” The warrior feels the previous annoyance bubbling up again.

“ _Yes!_ No-“ she fumbles. “I tried, but I - wanted to keep watch. Yes.”

Cassandra furrows her brow. “Where did you sleep?”

She’d looked everywhere last night, so there’s so few places she could’ve settled down...

“-a tree.”

“What?!”

“I’ve slept in plenty of trees before,” She waves a hand. “Not very comfy, though.”

“You need actual sleep. We will delay our departure until late morning.” Cassandra declares, thinking it reasonable.

“No!” Anita protests. “I don’t want to sleep. I can’t!”

“Have you been avoiding sleep? Anita...”

“Don’t give me that... _that!_ ” she spits at the older woman. “You don’t know what I see!”

“You are right.” Anita looks up. “I don’t know, because you have not told me. When are you going to see that we mean no harm to you?”

“When I know that you mean no harm to me.”

Anita turns to her bedroll and trips, falling into it. She groans.

“Sleep. I will inform the other two that we are delaying.”

Anita grunts her answer and doesn’t move. Cassandra only shakes her head and exits the tent to tell their companions that they won’t be leaving for a few more hours.

* * *

_She’s running like a rabbit, heart racing fast and seeing everything at once. Castelleta appears in front of her and she reaches out, tries to grab for her, but her hands move through her and she’s moving forward again, memories of Antiva and the Templar insignia. A howl sounds and suddenly she is staring up at a monstrously sized wolf with six eyes peering down at her, head tilted. The wind shifts and the Wolf howls, strong enough to shake the trees and the ground and suddenly the world is red, everyone is red, she is red-_

She shoots up in her bedroll, chest heaving. Shushing hits her ears and a hand pushes her back down onto her bedroll.

Tiredly, she blinks at the blurry image of the Seeker, her heart slowly reducing its fast rate. “Cassandra?”

“Go back to sleep, Anita. We still have some time yet.”

A warm hand settles itself over her unruly head of hair and she jerks her head slightly, but then she’s shushed again and the hand tentatively brushes through her curls.

“I will protect you, Anita. It is safe."

The Nevarran’s voice lulls her to the precipice of sleep and she fights it.

“P - Promise?” She manages to get out on a sleep-thick, accented tongue.

Her eyes already begin to flutter shut again, heavy with sleep and greedy for more.

“I hereby promise as a Seeker of Truth to protect you. Have you ever heard the story of how I became the Right Hand?”

The girl shakes her head slowly.

“Well, Varric likes to embellish it. Would you like to hear what really happened?”

Subira nods slowly, eyes falling shut fully.

“ _Thank you..._ ”

She thinks she hears Cassandra sigh deeply as she drifts off, but the warm hand doesn’t stop brushing through her curls. She slips off the precipice and into sleep as the woman describes the fight between the dragons and the mages to save Divine Beatrix.

Cassandra has watched the girl sleep since she fell face first into her bedroll, and it’s a disturbing sight. She thrashes, fights, and in some cases speaks. The Seeker was shocked to find that not all of it was nonsense, but she also did not know enough about the girl to make sense of it anyway.

Opening her book with one hand, she sighs when the girl falls back asleep. She’s still frustrated with her, but not angry. The Seeker is more hopeful about the possibility that they can have a constructive talk about it when she wakes up.

* * *

Subira wakes feeling more rested than she has in days. Vaguely, she thinks she remembers the Seeker promising to protect her and sitting by her, but she stifles a chuckle at that. Turning to her right, she startles when she sees the Seeker herself sitting next to her bedroll, reading a book.

Cassandra doesn’t look up. “Are you well rested?”

“Um... yes.” She says tentatively. _Wasn’t she angry?_

“Good. We will depart when you are ready, then.

The older woman stores her book and stands, stretching. She begins to put on her armor.

Subira rubs her face and blinks before changing into non-scorched pants - which wouldn't have been possible if the Inquisition hadn't provided clothes - and donning her own lighter armor, double checking her satchel and securing it around her neck.

“I’m ready, Seeker.” The Seeker nods.

“There cannot be a repeat of what you did yesterday.”

“Seeker-“

“ _No,_ Anita. Do not ‘Seeker’ me. This is not up for debate. You will _not_ repeat the stunt you pulled yesterday.”

“You are not my mother, Cassandra!” She barely notices the slip. “You and your insufferable Left Hand need to realize I have done just fine without guardians my entire life!”

The Seeker takes a deep breath. “It is not about that,” she says far more calmly than she feels. “It is about the fact that you put yourself in danger unnecessarily when you are the only person who can-“

“Yes, I’m the savior,” Subira rolls her eyes. “But I can handle myself. I am not a child who needs to be looked after. I’ve looked after myself my entire life!”

“You threw yourself into danger!”

“I wasn’t in any danger! Those men have no idea who they’re facing when I get onto the field,” she snarls. “They have no idea who they’re dealing with when I put a bit of costume rogue on my face wearing a corset too big for me and lure them from their posts or when bandits on the road decide that a ‘little girl’ should pay their toll price with her body.”

Her eyes flash and Cassandra is finally getting an idea of who this teenager really is.

“People have no idea who they’re dealing with,” she hisses angrily, pointing her finger at Cassandra. “And neither do you!”

Cassandra grunts in frustration. “I know I am dealing with a petulant child who does not realize just how big this world is!”

Subira snorts, shaking her head and exiting the tent. Cassandra calls after her, demanding they finish their talk, but she ignores her.

Varric and Solas are standing awkwardly in the middle of their deconstructed camp, ashes from their fire mixed with dirt. Varric whistles under his breath.

“Hey, Spitfire,” he says gently, going to pat her on the shoulder but dropping his hand half way.

She smiles softly, but there’s something fragile about it. “Good morning, Varric. Good morning, Solas. Shall we?”

* * *

Immediately upon arrival to Haven she’s ushered into a meeting, much to Varric’s disapproval. After a three week trip there and back, he’s clearly in favor of letting the kid rest up. He argues with Cassandra about it for several minutes before he ends up throwing his hands up and walking away, probably to the Tavern.

“So, to Val Royeaux?” The girl suggests bleakly to the adults around the table.

“Do not be so glum, Herald!” Lady Josephine says brightly. “The Capital is never a dull place to be. I’m sure your visit will be entertaining.”

Subira sighs forlornly. “Your positivity is infectious, Lady Montilyet, but I find I cannot get behind the sentiment. I detest Orlais and it’s shining Capital is no better.”

Sister Leliana raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Mhm. I have never fancied Orlais. Though, never let it be said that they Play lightly," she mutters. "Looking out for daggers in your back teaches you a lot."

The adults stiffen at her possible play on words. “You’ve played, then?” Lady Montilyet asks.

“Oh, yes,” Subira says far more lightly than she feels, the words tasting sour. “I’ve spent... an extended amount of time in Orlais before. Who does not get drawn into the Great Game?”

Cassandra mutters something unkind about Orlesian’s and Leliana elbows her in the side.


	6. Chasing Shadows We Never Saw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition arrives in the Capital of Val Royeaux. Somethings fishy about the Lord Seeker...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this tomorrow (in the morning, actually, because it’s one am) hopefully it gets more traction. I really want people to enjoy and give feedback on this story - it’s possibly the one I’ve worked the most on only because Subira suddenly just over took my life. Don’t get me wrong, I have in depth written out backstories for everyone else too, but theirs haven’t become fics yet.

The trip to the Capital takes less time than anticipated. It’s actually a little over two weeks on foot, but it passes fairly quickly. She spends most of the time glaring at Seeker Pentaghast or smiling at Varric’s jokes.

One of the nights while they journeyed to Orlais, she tells a story she had heard from a bard in a traveling merchant caravan in Rivain, and she told another she heard from a different caravan in her travels in the Anderfels.

The stories were perfect for reminiscing quietly while giving the rest of them something to build off of about her without giving them anything at all.

One night, Varric takes a long look at her and asks:

“Hey, Spitfire, where’d you learn all this healin’ stuff?”

She felt herself stiffen immediately and remembers forcing herself to continue the motion of cleaning her daggers and keep her tone nonchalant.

“A midwife, as anyone does,” she lifts the blade up to the light of the fire to inspect it.

“A midwife?” Varric shakes his head. “You know, they say midwives are typically mages... You got anything you want to share?”

The dwarf’s grin is obviously teasing, but it hits too close for Subira.

“No, Varric,” she puts her dagger into its sheath. “I don’t. The midwife I learned from was not a mage. It’s poultices and field medicine, nothing more.”

Hurriedly, she collected her things and stands to go to bed with a quickly muttered ‘goodnight’, away from Cassandra’s dissecting gaze and Solas’ knowing stare.

* * *

When they enter the city, the first thought she has is that Val Royeaux looks just as she remembers it, both during and after the War. Things in Val Royeaux are frozen in place through the years, too caught up trying to look pretty to change. She’s busy admiring the scenery when the scout approaches, returning the salute half-heartedly.

“The Chantry anticipated your arrival... as did a great many Templars.”

Seeker Pentaghast handles the talking when it appears the Herald will not. Subira physically feels herself stiffen at the news of the Templars. She spaces out thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, not thinking of her feet going in front of the other.

They walk into the main Courtyard where a crowd has formed and a Chantry cleric speaks passionately.

“Good people of Val Royeaux! Hear me! We mourn our Divine-“

Subira tunes her out mostly, only hearing the last part when the Revered Mother points at them.

“-You seek those responsible for her death? _Look no further!_ The so-called _‘Herald of Andraste’_ ” the cleric sneers, “Claiming to rise where-“

 _“Enough!”_ Subira says far more confidently than she feels. “Your fear-mongering is out of control!”

The Seeker steps in. “We seek only to close the Breach and bring order!”

“Something the Chantry _clearly_ hasn’t put at the top of its to-do list!”

A hand on her shoulder tells her she needs to stop talking, but out of her general dislike for listening and the adrenaline coursing through her body, there’s a good chance she won’t.

“ _Look!_ The Templars have returned to the Chantry. They will protect us!”

_Protect you? From who?_

One of the approaching Templars punches the Revered Mother across the face.

“Oh, _brasca!_ ” She winces. “That must’ve hurt.”

One of the Templars who had remained in Val Royeaux goes to assist the fallen Mother.

“Still yourself! She is beneath us,” The angry looking one barks.

“The only-“ She stalls her remark, staring at the Templar who spoke.

His eyes lock on her. “Look what we have here. A child-prophet. _Bah!_ A puppet,” he declares with a sneer.

“Lord Seeker Lucius, it is imperative we speak to you,” Cassandra tries.

“You will _not_ address me!” The ‘Templar’ breaks his eye contact with Subira, making her take in a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Lord Seeker?”

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s Prophet - you should be _ashamed!_ ”

“How... _dare you!_ ” Subira fumes and pushes past the Seeker. “You, without honor, without _soul,_ would dare judge Seeker Pentaghast’s character in such a manner? Insult her? Would you like to duel, you worthless piece of-“

Her irises had begun to glow mid-way into her impassioned speech. The Seeker lays a hand on her shoulder and to her confusion even through her gauntlet finds it hot, quickly retracting it. After a moment she tries again.

“I would not engage in a duel with a half-baked Herald who cannot handle herself,” the man says cruelly. “The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages. You are the ones who have failed. You who would leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear!”

He addresses the crowd,

“If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny that demands respect is ours!”

Subira scoffs, causing Cassandra to tug on her arm, but she doesn’t heed the silent warning.

“If you didn’t come for the Chantry, you just came to make speeches!” She taunts.

“I came to see what frightens old women so, and to laugh.”

The kind, nervous looking Templar from before comes up on the Lord Seeker’s right.

“But Lord Seeker, what if they’re right? What is she really was sent by the Maker? What if this child is the-“

A greasy looking Templar walks up. “You are called to a Higher purpose. Do not question.”

The Lord Seeker begins speaking again. “I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void. We deserve recognition. Independence! You,” he looks directly at Subira, and she has to repress a shudder, “have shown me nothing. And the Inquisition… less than nothing.”

The man takes one more good look at her, sizing her up. “Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!”

Practically foaming at the mouth and determined to have the last word she shouts at his back, “You cannot hide behind illusions forever! You see me, but I also see you!”

Varric reaches an arm out to steady the shaking girl. “Woah there Spitfire, I dislike bad Templars as much as the next guy, but what's got you in a twist?”

“Nothing,” she mutters, withdrawn. “Don’t worry about it, Varric.”

“This victory must please you, Seeker Pentaghast,” A voice rings out.

The Mother who was hit.

“We came only to speak with the mothers,” Cassandra speaks as though she’s explaining it to a young child, shaking her head. “This was your own doing."

“And you had no part forcing our hand? Do not delude yourself. Just answer me this, Herald of Andraste,” suddenly turning the attention to Subira, “do you believe the Maker sent you?”

“I’m just a thief caught in the middle,” she admits. “But I’ll try to fix things and not run when it’s frightening.”

The cleric looks relieved. “That is... more comforting than you may imagine, child.”

Subira smiles slightly, a little crooked. “No, I think I understand. Here,” she takes three big wobbly steps forward, ignoring Cassandra’s attempt to steady her, and kneels down next to the cleric. She rifles through her bag, carefully avoiding her many potions.

“Aha! Here it is. Trust me,” the girl bites her lip in concentration, gently applying a salve of her own make to the woman’s jaw, who stiffens and then relaxes after a moment.

The cleric looks at her with an odd expression when she’s done. “I... thank you, Herald.”

Subira snorts. “I’m just a kid, Mother Hevara,” she says quietly. “I hope you heal well. If I were you, I’d stay away from Val Royeaux. The Templars are not to be trusted.”

Returning her salve to her bag, she dusts off her knees and stands, turning to her companions. She takes a deep breath and drags her hands over her face.

The unsure looking Templar stares at Subira and then walks off slowly after the marching Templars. Cassandra shakes her head sadly.

Cassandra eyes the suddenly exhausted girl. “Has the Lord Seeker gone mad? This is very strange...”

“It’s not strange,” Subira mumbles, taking deep breaths through her nose. The energy a presence like that sapped from her was enormous and her eyelids flutter, concerning the older woman. “He’s the same but not the same. Two - but under one name.”

Cassandra scowls and shakes her head. “What?”

Solas sweeps a calculating eye over her, having felt the shift in her mana. Mentally protecting yourself from a demon is exhausting, especially for people with the talent for fadewalking.

“We need to find a place to bed for the night. The Herald will not be able to travel until further notice.”

“What?! She’s fine!”

Subira also chose this moment to stumble into Cassandra. The last thing she says with coherency:

“The Secrets of your Order are too long in the dark,” she whispers, eyes fluttering closed. “He will lead them into the dark...”

And then promptly passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
> brasca - an Antivan curse word, basically 'damn' or an 'oh, shit!' type of deal, you dig? you can find it in some Zev stuff from DA:O


	7. An Ocean That Has Already Been Drained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira has an encounter in the fade after a meeting in the city square leaves her weak. Cassandra and Subira prepare for Madame Vivienne’s soirée.

_When she opens her eyes, Subira can immediately tell that it’s the fade. The whole sky is the sea, the salt water air permeating into her skin and the wind is the rushing noise of waves crashing against the shore. There are whispers in her ears and every direction she turns._

_Panic begins to fill her the longer she stands there, the whispers are becoming louder and the air becoming suffocating. The sky-sea rages._

_The feeling spreads until it’s her whole body and she’s running suddenly, no longer looking up at the sea-sky and now running through the forest, a myriad of faces rushing past her. Each voice is garbled and she cries out before speeding up._

_“You...” She breathes._

_In the middle of the forest, there is the man from the city square._

_The Lord Seeker turns and with a blood-curdling laugh he reveals his true form. “Does this form please you? Is it without soul? Without honor? Let me introduce myself: I am Imshael.”_

_The sky-sea storms and rages, the waves crashing against it’s atmospheric shore. It thunders, and lightening flashes in front of her before Imshael appears. She screams to the sound of his echoing laughter._

* * *

She wakes up panting, beads of sweat on her forehead. A cooling hand touches her head and a feeling of calm spreads through her.

Solas speaks after a moment of quiet. “I felt a strange energy while meditating. The same one I felt in the square.”

“I... believe it was nothing.”

He leveled her with a measured look. “Regardless, there is little I can do now.”

She nods, drawing her knees to her chest. “Did I miss anything?”

“You were invited to a soirée tonight by a Madame de Fer. Seeker Cassandra advises it would be unwise not to attend.”

Subira groans. “You mean Seeker Cassandra says it’s necessary, then?”

“I believe as much, yes.”

Solas seems to find this amusing, but since he doesn’t show much by way of expression she can’t prove it.

* * *

A few scouts travel with them, similarly outfitted with borrowed horses as Cassandra and Subira are. It takes them about five days on horse back to arrive at the Estate. Varric and Solas travel with them up until a checkpoint a bit away.

When the scouts heard of the soirée, they went to work immediately. How they managed it in so little time, she’ll never be able to guess, but Subira is glad for it.

Leliana’s scouts ( _though she’s sure Josephine’s diplomats there in the city had a hand in it_ ) outfitted her in something suited for noble born daughters and women, really; She wore beige breeches - typically worn by young men, but for ease of navigation they made the exception, because apparently they wanted her in a gown - with simple black hunting boots laced tight up to her knee. Tucked into her pants was a stark white dress shirt, crisp and the collar flat.

To tie the look together was an overcoat, a dark navy blue with black and gold trimming and gold cufflinks. The coattails went right to her mid thigh and swished quietly behind her.

Olive green eyes were lined with kohl and gold powder on her cheekbones and her normally unruly curls plaited into a beautiful Orlesian braid down her back, she could’ve been a maiden out of those silly books that they would read at the orphanage.

When presented with a looking glass, she hardly recognized herself. They left her with a hand on the gold frame to stare reverently at her reflection. How could she have never known she could look... beautiful?

Cassandra’s voice breaks her out of her trance in front of the mirror. _“Anita, are you ready? Madame de Fer is not a patient woman!”_

“I’m coming!” She calls back, taking one last look at herself.

Boot heels clack quietly as she makes her way out of the room Josephine procured in a quaint inn just a few miles outside the estates grounds. Subira took a deep breath before turning the corner and presenting herself to her three companions, arms spread wide.

“So, how do I look?” She turns in a circle halfheartedly, worried about their reactions. All of it feels like too much for her.

“Spitfire, you’re going to knock off their knickers at this soirée!” Varric grins encouragingly and Subira smiles shyly.

“You think?” She brushes a stray hair behind her ear.

“You clean up quite nicely, Your Worship.” Cassandra comments politely. The addition of her title sours her mood.

She digs the toe of her boot into the floorboards. “Yes,” she replies quietly. “Thank you, Seeker. I suppose I do. Shall we?”

Varric and Solas exchange glances. Cassandra at least looks guilty, opening her mouth to speak but closing it.


	8. Little Porcelain Figurines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira experiences discomfort once again in the middle of the spotlight, but soldiers on for her duty. An experienced player of the game is introduced and sees potential in the young and upcoming hero.

Cassandra watches with no small amount of amusement as Anita takes in her surroundings. Her eyes are wide as they enter the Chateau of Duke Bastien De Ghislain.

“You appear to be in shock, Herald.” She comments.

Anita looks up at her briefly, then back at the sea of masked guests. “I’ve never... been in one of _these,_ ” she gestures to the party with a gloved hand. “I was always in the walls.”

Cassandra nods slowly. “I see.”

“But Orlesian’s certainly have not changed,” Anita’s voice is lower now. “Their finery is still a woven web around deceit.”

The older woman represses a snort. “That is true.”

“Oh, they’re announcing us.” Anita grimaces and retreats closer to Cassandra’s side.

_“Announcing the arrival of Cassandra Pentaghast and the Herald of Andraste, of the Inquisition!”_

The sea of guests turn to where they have entered. Anita’s confidence falters before returning in full and she gives a broad smile.

“Oh! The Herald,” a woman gushes, fanning herself with a large hand fan. “I did not believe the tales of you being so young. Tell me, are the stories true?”

Anita smiles, and Cassandra can hardly tell it’s fake. “Oh, my Lady, I’m sure most of it is embellishment. After all, I am just one girl!”

“Ah, Herald!” A man with a thick mustache approaches. “You are... quite young, are you not? I am surprised.”

Her pleasant smile doesn’t fall. “Ah, but aren’t the young truly old and the old truly young, after all?” She laughs, causing a chorus of laughs to go up around her.

The man laughs politely. “You have a sense of humor about you, Herald! I would not have expected that. And modest, too! I wish to know, what is your opinion on the civil war?”

Anita barely misses a beat, though Cassandra catches the waver in confidence.

“I think it is a great tragedy, of course,” she says sagely, nodding her head. Others nod along with her. “If only the Empire would cease this war and bring peace to the lands of Orlais once again.”

“The Inquisition intends to bring peace, yes?” Another man says from Cassandra’s left. Anita turns to look at him.

“Yes, the Inquisition-“

At this moment, a man begins his descent down the stairs loudly. “The Inquisition! _Hah!_ ” He guffaws. “A revolutionary movement filled with political outcasts pretending to answer a higher calling. It’s a power grab!”

The salon goes silent, murmurs echoing throughout the crowd.

“And what would you know of it, my Lord?” Anita’s voice cuts through the quiet calm, deadly sharp.

Pushing away from Cassandra, she begins to walk through the crowd, which parts for her.

_“I beg your pardon?”_

“What would you know of being a political outcast reaching for power? Unless, of course, you are one yourself,” Anita says confidently, her chin raised high.

The man stutters on his response, “I’ll have you know - I - You would do good to shut your mouth, little girl!” He threatens, a hand on his sword. “Unless you’d like to try your hand against me outside?”

Her smile is deadly, all teeth. “I would gladly oblige, my Lord, however I don’t believe I should challenge a blade so... _inadequate._ ”

Cassandra puts a fist to her mouth to hold her startled laughter, slowly moving towards Anita. Before it can go any further, the Marquis is frozen.

Cassandra blinks a few times. Anita laughs. “What a predicament you’ve found yourself in!”

The clicking of heels cause a hush to fall over the room in anticipation of the wearers arrival. “My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in _my_ house against _my_ guests.”

The woman, who must be Madame de Fer, struts - exuding confidence in her stride. Since the first flick of her hand, Anita’s eyes have been trained on her almost in reverence. Cassandra watches curiously.

“You know such rudeness is... intolerable,” the Madame drawls.

“M-Madame Vivienne! I humbly beg your pardon...” the frozen Marquis stutters out.

Circling the Marquis like a cat, she stops in front of Anita, a grin on her masked face. “You should.”

She turns back to the quivering man. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?”

Turning back to Anita, she clears her throat. “My Lady, you’re the wounded party in this... unfortunate affair,” she says with a clear distaste for the man who’s disrupted her night. “What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Anita gains a look of understanding. If she says kill him, this woman will.

Cassandra dearly hopes she will not ask Madame de Fer to... dispose of the admittedly annoying Marquis.

The girl takes a deep breath. “You are a gracious host, Madame Vivienne,” She says loudly. “I leave him in your capable hands. I’m sure whatever punishment you decide for him will be enough.”

Cassandra nearly breathes a sigh of relief. Madame de Fer smiles, but it’s a different one than before. Softer and a bit less calculated.

Madame de Fer unfreezes the Marquis with a snap of her fingers. “Poor Marquis,” she coos. “Issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Fereldan dog lord...”

She laughs while the Marquis coughs and shivers from his time spent as an icicle.

“And all dressed up in your Aunt Solange’s doublet,” She sneers mockingly. “Didn’t she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney?”

Madame de Fer makes a disapproving noise, turning away from the man. “To think, all the brave Chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning...” she turns back to him accusingly. “And you’re still here.”

While Cassandra enjoys putting men who believe they can push whomever they wish around in their place as well as strong, empowered women, she sorely hopes Vivienne has a point she’ll make soon. This is dragging on. Anita, however, seems to be hanging onto her every word.

“Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by defeating the Herald of Andraste in a public duel?” She pouts. “Pathetic. Perhaps you thought her blade would put an end to the misery of your failure.”

The Marquis says nothing, shamed into silence by the truths spoken to him. “Run along, my dear,” Madame de Fer laughs lightly. “Do give my regards to your Aunt.”

With as much dignity as the man has left (which, Cassandra assumes isn’t much at this point, having been torn to shreds by Madame de Fer) he walks out of the room, presumably to gather his things and depart.

Madame de Fer turns to Anita, eyes sparkling. “Come along, darling,” she smiles. “We have a lot to discuss, yes?”


	9. Cruising through the Real and Fake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another politically powerful person steps into Thedas' uneven playing ground. Two intelligent women broker a deal amongst the chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I just wanted to say: Thank you for everyone checking out this story! So much time (most of it my sleep time) has gone into this work - currently, Subira is moving into Skyhold and she'll take your well-wishes grumpily like the teenager she is. I'm honestly working on this faster than I anticipated - but the progress makes me happy. Currently editing the very large section that's in my notes (and adding more) and eventually it'll be transferred to my drive when I reach Adamant. Ooo boy... we've got a long way to go! Basically, thank you for the kudos and the comments, your support means the absolute most. Have Chapter Nine <3

“I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering,” Madame de Fer comments, leading them towards an open window.

The breeze feels wonderful on Subira’s flushed skin from the heat of the ballroom.

“I’ve _so_ wanted to meet you,” she continues.

“It’s an honor, Madame. I am surprised you extended an invitation in the first place. But then again, who wouldn’t, with the Inquisition being an unknown.” Subira remarks.

“Allow me to properly introduce myself, my dear,” the woman turns to face Subira and Cassandra. “I am Vivienne, First Enchanter to Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

Subira curtsies. “Charmed, Lady Vivienne.”

“Ah, but, I didn’t invite you here to exchange pleasantries. You are correct, darling; with Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles,” Subira nods along.

“Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people. As the leader of the last Loyal Mages Of Thedas, I felt it only right that I lend my hand to the cause.”

Subira freezes. Loyal mages? _Dammit, she thought her name was familiar._ But... Firmly, she shakes those thoughts off. The world is at stake, ideology cannot get in the way here. The Inquisition needs mages, and she’s offering them on a silver platter.

“A player of the Game such as yourself? I’m sure there is more for you than that, Lady Vivienne. You’re an intelligent woman, I can tell,”

Subira can feel Cassandra tense behind her. Probably regretting letting her take the reigns for this conversation.

“And between two intelligent women, I believe your help would be more than appreciated. You will find the Inquisition at Haven, with accommodations for you and your people.”

Madame Vivienne laughs, a twinkle in her eye. “Oh, a smart one! You catch on quick, little Herald. The loyal mages and I are happy to lend our assistance.”

Subira feels Cassandra relax. “Thank you for being a most gracious Host tonight, Madame.”

“Yes, Madame de Fer,” Cassandra says gruffly, clearing her throat. “It has been a pleasure.”

“Nonsense, the pleasure was all mine, my dears. Au revoir, my Lady Herald, Seeker Pentaghast.”

The imposing woman sweeps from the room, off to tend to her guests.

“Come on,” Subira grumbles. “Let’s go.”

They were silent as they rode on borrowed horses back to the checkpoint-inn, the only noise being hooves hitting the gravel road. They won’t start back to Val Royeaux until tomorrow, considering the late hour.

“You handled the soirée well, Anita,” Cassandra comments quietly.

The girl seems to be in deep thought, staring down at her saddle. She looks up. “Oh. Um - Yes. Thank you, Seeker - I mean, Cassandra.”

“I’ll admit, I did not expect you to fare so well,” the older woman says.

Subira shrugs. “Arrogant men and women underestimating me is not a concept I am unfamiliar with. Not having to hide in the walls is an added bonus, I assure you.”

“I can imagine it would be.”

They ride in silence for the rest of the way, neither having much to say. The soft wind brings a cool breeze with it, cooling the ever-warm air of Orlais. Subira sighs.

* * *

When they return to the inn, she promptly tore off all of the clothing she could as fast as possible. It was too stiff and confining, she wanted her soft cotton back. The best part was when the servants brought her a basin of water. She hasn’t been able to really wash since... Since they found her, actually.

But she’s exhausted and resigns to only wiping her face down with a cloth, remembering that she covered her tattoo with costume rouge and a bit of glamor magic.

The haggler who sold her it wasn’t lying then, she muses as she inspected her cheek in the looking glass; this stuff lasted. A few smudges but otherwise it looked normal.

Hopefully no one in the Inquisition is up-to-date on Antivan Crow customs. Plus, an orphan of the name by Anita isn’t much to go off of. _They’ll never know._

Resigning to not cover the tattoo, she continues to wipe off the grime that’s accumulated around the costume makeup and then down her neck and arms, pausing at her marked hand.

It’s splintered throughout her hand and softly glowing, a dim light being emitted from it. The tendrils crawl up her wrist and wrap around her thumb and she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.

_One day at a time._

* * *

They’re finally leaving the city - it will be a month and a half trip in total when they return to Haven, and she's never been more thankful for a sleepy mountain towns existence - when she approaches, soft footsteps alerting them to her presence.

“If I might have a moment of your time?” The accent is so familiar, and Subira hopes when she turns it isn’t who she thinks it is.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” the Seeker is confused by her presence, in such a populated area such as Val Royeaux.

“Leader of the Mage Rebellion,” Solas muses. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

“I’d heard of the Inquisition gathering in Val Royeaux, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes.”

Subira furrows her brow. There should be some amount of recognition in her eyes... But there’s none. Something about her voice... it’s wrong.

“If it’s help with the Breach you seek,” the Grand Enchanter starts, “Then perhaps my people are the wiser option.”

That doesn’t sound like a decision she’d make at all! Fiona ran and hid her people to keep them out of the fighting, and to offer them up to the Inquisition instead of allowing the Inquisition to come to her?

_None of this makes sense._

“I’m surprised, Grand Enchanter,” Subira finally finds her voice. “That the leader of the Mage Rebellion wasn’t at the Conclave.”

She crosses her fingers mentally, hoping Fiona passes her test.

“Yes,” Cassandra says warily. “You were supposed to be, and yet somehow avoided death.”

“As did the Lord Seeker, you’ll note,” Fiona says testily. Briefly she makes eye contact with Subira. “Both of us sent negotiators in our stead, in case it was a trap.”

That’s not what happened! Subira wracks her brain for anything else that she can remember but finds everything regarding the Conclave and her involvement just... _gone._

“I won’t pretend I’m not glad to live. I lost many dear friends that day.”

The words sound like sand paper off of the Grand Enchanter’s tongue. Subira tries not to cringe.

“It disgusts me to think that the Templars might get away with it. I’m hoping you won’t let them.”

The Grand Enchanter would never make an accusation like that! A mage making such an accusation with nothing to go off of could be a death sentence.

“You believe the Templars were behind the explosion, Grand Enchanter?” Subira draws the attention back to herself, searching the woman’s face and body language.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Cassandra asks with a shrug.

“Lucius hardly seems beat up over his losses,” Fiona says lowly. “ _If_ he’s concerned about them at all.”

_That’s the only fair point she’s made this entire conversation, but only because there's something wrong with the Lord Seeker, too._

“You heard him. You think he wouldn’t happily kill the Divine to turn people against us?”

“I think making wild accusations is a dangerous practice these days,” Subira says quietly.

With an eye on the girl, Fiona continues. “So yes, I think he did it. More than I think _you_ did it, at any rate.”

“Are you extending your help to us, Grand Enchanter?” Subira has had enough talk.

“Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe. Come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there.”

With one last glance at the Herald, the woman walks away. “ _Au revoir,_ my Lady Herald.”

Cassandra stares after the woman for a few moments. Everyone is silent.

“Come. Let us return to Haven.”

Not even a second after the words have left her mouth, an arrow hits the ground at Subira’s feet. Cassandra is in front of her with her shield immediately, looking for danger, but Subira waves it off, picking up the arrow.

“It’s a... oh, for the love of-“ Subira presses a palm into her forehead.

“What is it, Spitfire?”

“It’s a scavenger hunt from the Jennies.” Subira grinds out, annoyed.

“Who are the ‘Jennies’?” Solas asks curiously.

“The Red Jennies, Chuckles,” Varric smiles, but Solas looks at him blankly. “You don’t know of them?”

“I admit, I also do not know of these ‘Jennies’,” Cassandra comments, reluctantly returning her shield to her back.

“They’re a bunch of - troublemakers, basically,” Subira curses her luck. “They’re useful to have on your side. They dislike royalty, the noble class, anyone who might mistreat the ‘little people’.” She uses her index fingers to form quotation marks.

“And if they are not on your side?” Cassandra asks.

“If not, they’re a pain in your ass.”

“I assume you’ve come across some Jennies, Spitfire?”

Her reply is muttered. “Oh, I’ve come across some Jennies, Varric. Come on, off to do a scavenger hunt.”

Baffled, Cassandra doesn’t move. “What do you mean? We’re off to do a scavenger hunt to find troublemakers?”

“If we don’t, they’ll just mess with us. We want them now before they’re annoying. Trust me.” Subira marches off in the direction of the first clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
> au revoir - until we meet again (probably not needed, but wanted to make sure that anyone who doesn't know French is caught up)


	10. Maybe it’s a Dream, Maybe Nothing Else is Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red Jenny says hello. And to watch your pants. Varric could’ve sworn he’s seen this before, but in the words of a wiseman he once knew (Hawke) ...  
> “Maybe it’s nothing.”

“When you said a 'scavenger hunt’, Anita,” Cassandra pants, shield bashing one of the mercenaries before running him through with her sword. “I figured you meant there would be something ridiculous at the end of it. Not  armed guards! ” She snaps.

“Oh, pardon me! I seem to have followed the _other_ scavenger  hunt!” Subira hisses, narrowly missing being nicked by a dagger and rolling off to the side before striking the man in the throat.

“Come  _ on _ , you two! Let’s finish these guys and see who’s waiting for us,” Varric calls, shooting a man in the chest. He falls like a pile of logs.

Solas, ever the mediator, tries to interject. “If I may-?”

_“No!”_   Both Cassandra and Subira turn to yell at him, finishing off their targets before sheathing their weapons.

Solas holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender and the women seem to accept that, moving forward through the villa.

A man with a heavy Orlesian accent and an arrogant mask waits for them. “Ah, the Herald of Andraste! Who sent you?”

The girl in question blinks. “Who are you?”

“Oh, don’t try that! I’m too important not to know! Of course the Inquisition would want to find me-“

“Hey!” A voice calls out from across the way, shadowed. Clearly holding a bow, with the figure of a woman. “Just say _‘what’!_ ”

“What is the meaning of-“ The man gets an arrow into his throat.

“Ugh, squishy one but you heard me, right? Just say ‘what’!” The woman laughs, coming into the light. “Rich tits always want more than they deserve - Oh shit, you  _are_ a  kid!”

Subira frowns. “I’ve probably killed more people than years you’ve been alive.”

“Aw, and a right creepy one,” the woman sounds disappointed. “Right, anyway. In your face, I’m Sera. But I’m Jenny.  _Red Jenny,_   that is. We protect the little people from nobles who want to mistreat them, yeah? _‘Rah, rah! I have power!’_ ”

She walks a little closer, causing Cassandra to bristle. “And you’re the... Herald thingy, right? With the glowy hand? You’re gonna put the sky back together, yeah?”

Subira lifts up her gloved hand, peeling it off to reveal the mark.

_“Wicked!”_   Sera breathes, and then shakes her head. “That’s some right creepy shit, Harold.”

Subira brushes off the mispronunciation, chalking it up to her accent.

“Yes, I plan on repairing the Breach. And the Jennies want... what?  A cut? ” Her voice is stern.

“ Woah,  hold on now! We ain’t like that!”

“The Jennies I met left an Alienage to burn because they had already collected their coin from ‘ the little people ’,” Subira sneers.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’ve seen or heard, yeah? But I have contacts. _Good_ contacts , not the type who would let an entire Alienage burn! Bloody hell, that’s awful! I’m an elf myself, you see?” The woman tugs on her ear, somewhat hidden underneath shaggy hair.

“I want to protect the little people, Harold. I know your Inquisishy-thingy is the best way to do that. What do you say? Probably best to give me an answer soon, the guards are coming. Don’t worry though, someone gave me a key to their storehouse.”

“Oh, so they have no weapons?” Varric asks.

“ No,  ya git! They have no breeches!” She cackles.

Subira furrows her brow. “What do you mean no-“

That moment, the guards crash into the courtyard, wearing no pants except sleeping trousers.

“Oh, my,” Cassandra says, blushing deeply.

“Uh, don’t look, kid.” Varric says with a grimace.

* * *

When the fight is over, Sera brushes herself off, collecting her arrows.

“Seeker, did you see her bow skills? She’s amazing,” Varric hisses.

“I want her to join us.” Subira says, a little roughly. She’s tired and wants to leave Orlais.

“Yes!” All four of them swivel to look at Sera. “Uh, I mean...”

She begins whistling and drops the arrow in her hand, pretending that she can’t find it.

With a sigh, Subira makes her way to Sera. “Sera, in your face, I’m Anita, the Herald of Andraste,” The words taste like ash on her tongue. “But I welcome you to the Inquisition.”

“Right on! The Inquisition is set up at Haven, yeah? I’ll meet you lot there!”

Before they can get a word in edgewise, the odd woman is climbing up and over a wall, scrambling into the night.

“I’m sure I’m going to live to regret this decision.” Subira says, running a tired hand down her face.

“Lighten up, Spitfire. What’s the worst that can happen?”

* * *

“Come on, Cassandra!” Anita is close to whining.

_ “No.” _

“Why  not? ”

“Because we need to return as soon as possible, we cannot deviate to the Hinterlands!” Her harsh tone causes the teenager to shrink and she softens.

“Anita, we will return to the Hinterlands to help. I  promise, we will. But we must return to Haven right now. Okay?”

She just nods.

The Seeker’s brows furrow, looking intently at the youth’s face. “Is that... a tattoo?”

Anita’s cheeks flush. “It’s... yes,” she puts her hand over it, but Cassandra gently moves her hand away, inspecting the flawless lines across her jaw and cheekbone.

“You’re very young... to have such tattoos,” the older woman says cautiously.

“Yeah, well,” Anita laughs nervously. “I didn’t ask for them.”

They both go still. Solas and Varric have stopped walking ahead, curious about what could possibly be so important.

“These weren’t here when we found you... When...?”

Anita turns, taking her face from the Seeker. “A bit of costume rouge goes a long way,” she says quietly. Her voice is devoid of emotion. “It doesn’t matter, Seeker. It was a long time ago.”

“Anita-“

“Focus,” Anita snaps. _“_ _ La mia sofferenza non è mai finita. _ _”_ she mutters.

“Anita-“ Cassandra tries again, going to put a hand on her shoulder, but Anita ducks out of it, walking to catch up with Solas and Varric.

Cassandra shakes her head before starting after them. It seems she makes one step forward in learning about her, and three steps back.

Solas hangs back as Anita trudges forward, allowing Varric to take this one.

“So... Spitfire,” the dwarf says casually, when Cassandra and Solas are many paces behind them. “What happened back there?”

Anita shakes her head, turning to face him. “Nothing, Varric.”

His eyes catch the tattoo curving across her cheek and jaw, scanning her for a moment before looking at the trees. He’s sure he’s seen those before...

“Right."

But maybe it’s nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations -  
> La mia sofferenza non è mai finita - my suffering never ends


	11. Glamorize the Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira re-learns that the fade won’t always be on her side. Varric and Subira reminisce together in the Singing Maiden and our Hero is reminded of what comes with being a hero - Worship. Uncomfortable and scared, she wonders about her fate in the coming future.

They camp for the night in a cozy little clearing near a stream, underneath the stars but right next to the trees. Very _picturesque_ , in Varric’s words.

That night, she figures she can sleep for a bit, strengthening the protection around her dreams and settling down, sleep taking her exhausted form easily.

And instead of demons like Imshael, she dreams of Castelleta reaching out for her, begging her to find her.

* * *

  _“Cas?” She calls softly._

_Her voice is quiet, terrified of the dark surrounding her. The fade has always bent to her will, it has never formed against her - until the mark, that is. Her dreams have gotten intensely violent in nature._

_Cas does not answer, and the feeling of dread increases._

_“Cas, please! I’ll find you, I didn’t abandon you!” She says desperately._

_Absently, she realizes there are tears rolling down her cheeks._

_“Where are you,_ corvo? _” Castelleta calls out. “Why haven’t you come to find me?”_

_“I will! I’ll find you, I will...” She sinks to her knees and hugs them to her, loneliness aching deep in her chest._

_“You’ll fail them, you know.”_

_Grand Enchanter Fiona sits in chair across from her now, casually inspecting her robes._

_“Grand Enchanter?”_

_This one doesn’t recognize her either. “You’ll fail them. You cannot win, Herald.”_

_Fiona’s body becomes consumed with red, the sky bleeds around her and the wind screams. It carries the scent of burnt flesh and dead into her nostrils and her eyes burn. The bodies of her allies in a world gone red appear in front of her. There are few bodies she does not recognize among them._

_Cassandra. Solas. Varric. Cullen. Leliana. Josephine. Castelleta. Vivienne. Sera._

* * *

She chokes and sits up with a gasp, breathing so hard she coughs uncontrollably. Her heart is racing and she feels overheated, remembering red-

She scrambles out of her bedroll and out of the tent to the edge of camp, throwing up her dinner from the night before. She heaves and breathes heavily, another wave hitting her.

She kneels there, choking and gasping on bile and spit, trying to get air into her lungs when a hand lands on her shoulder. The girl doesn’t think, she reacts; drawing the blade she keeps in her sleeve and clumsily goes to attack, but finds her hand caught in a firm hold and she struggles.

_“Anita!”_

The firm tone causes her to stop and breathe, blinking to clear the moisture from her eyes. She sees Cassandra and it hit her that she just tried to attack her, dropping the dagger and backing up.

Cassandra is blunt and hardheaded. She has no experience comforting scared children and yet, here she is, in the middle of the night, attempting exactly that.

“Anita, it’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.” she tries.

Anita just eyes her before nodding. “I’m-“ a cough, clearing her throat.

She spits off to the side, and Cassandra hides a grimace. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

Cassandra blinks. “It is... It’s no trouble.”

Shakily she begins to walk towards their tent. “Hold on,” Cassandra says gently. “Here.”

She hands the girl a water flask and a cloth. Wrapped in the cloth are a few leaves of elfroot.

“T-thank you,” Anita says with trembling lips, trying not to imagine Cassandra the way she looked in her dream. Her eyes water-

“Anita?”

“I - I can’t-“ Anita’s words caught in her throat.

She takes a swig of water and swishes her mouth out before spitting again, popping a few leaves of elfroot into her mouth, chewing with a sour look on her face. Turning, she spits those out too, using more water to clean her mouth again.

She takes a deep breath, feeling more composed and cleaner now despite the tears that had welled in her eyes. She takes a long drink of water, suddenly very thirsty.

“T-thank you, S-Seeker,” Anita curses her stuttering.

“It is no trouble, as I said... Anita.”

Anita nods and returns to the tent, crawling into her bedroll and staring at the ceiling. A few moments later, after switching watch with Varric ( _and Bianca, he would remind her if he could hear her thoughts_ ) Cassandra enters the tent as well, settling into her bedroll. Anita shakes furiously, teeth clattering together so hard it sounds painful.

“Are... are you alright, Anita?”

Anita barks out a laugh - it’s wet and catches on her tears. “No,” she says dryly. “No, I’m not.”

They lapse into uncomfortable silence. Cassandra wants to reach out to the shaking youth and comfort her in some way, but she’s always been useless with feelings, always been useless with children - she wouldn’t know where to start with either of these things, and would probably just muck it up. It’s probably better that-

“Hey, uh - Cassandra?” Anita calls out, voice raw.

“Yes, Anita?”

There are several moments of silence that stretch out until finally, “Never mind,” Anita’s voice is no more than a hoarse whisper. “Goodnight.”

When they wake up, Cassandra looks down with no small amount of surprise to see the Herald curled up next to her, nodding off to sleep but not quite allowing herself to fall. Her eyes are just barely open.

“Anita, did you get any sleep?”

“I... couldn’t,” she says quietly, sitting up and rubbing her red eyes.

Cassandra sighs. There’s no point arguing with her about it. Instead, they pack up and continue their way back to Haven.

* * *

After two or so weeks more of banter and more often than not arguing, they arrive back from Val Royeaux. Anita does not have any more dreams that wake Cassandra up, but she also does not mention anything else about it. Cassandra suspects she has them more frequently than the girl lets on.

Try as she might she cannot imagine what Anita wanted to talk to her about that night in her tent, and she wishes the girl would open up more to her.

She attempts to stay vigilant while the girl falls asleep each night to give her a sense of security, but it’s fairly difficult when said girl turns on her side and feigns sleep most nights.

Anita and Cassandra immediately make their way to the Chantry - after Anita divests herself of her armor, complaining of it restricting her breathing. But she suspects that is yet another way to escape the duties that she does not want.

“Thank goodness you’ve arrived. We heard of your meeting in Val Royeaux,” Josephine walks out of seemingly nowhere, causing Anita to jump.

“ _Makers breath,_ Lady Montilyet!”

“Apologies, Your Worship.”

Josephine has the barest hint of a smile on her face, though, so Cassandra doubts how apologetic she is.

“How could news have possibly gotten here so quickly?” Cassandra asks like she already knows the answer.

“I had my agents posted all over the city. We could not risk anything happening to the Herald. They sent word ahead.” Leliana says, coming from the other side.

Anita jumps slightly, face contorting into a barely-noticeable frown for just a second and then pauses.

“Alright, where is he?”

Josephine cocks her head. “Who, Your Worship?”

“The Commander! You two,” she points at Josephine and Leliana, “came out of nowhere, so it goes to say that he is also going to do so.”

Anita looks around before skeptically stepping forward, opening the heavy war room door.

The Commander is leaning over the table, inspecting something. The girl clutches her chest.

“Maker... Are you all here to help close the Breach, or is this an elaborate attempt to kill me?”

“That remains to be seen,” Leliana says dryly from beneath her hood.

Josephine gasps, “Of course not, Your Worship. Leliana simply has a twisted sense of humor.” The Antivan glares pointedly at her longtime friend.

Cullen looks up, sighing. “All jokes aside, it’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their sense.”

The girl barely contains the snort that makes its way out of her body. When did the Templars ever have sense?

“At least we know we can approach the mages now,” Anita offers hopefully, trying to simplify the matter.

“Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember,” Cassandra remarks. “He was almost entirely different, in fact. It was most peculiar...”

“What? What is it?” Josephine looks far too eager to find out information she didn’t previously have.

“Anita said something... strange, before losing consciousness, about the Lord Seeker. Funnily enough I can’t seem to remember it now...”

“How odd,” Leliana says, looking at Anita with calculating eyes and shifting the topic. “Almost as odd as what my agents have been reporting. He has taken the Order _somewhere,_ but to do what?”

Anita sighs, already sick of politics. “Do we _have_ to go in circles talking about mages and Templars? We all already know which group I want to ask for help. The Templars will be of no help to us.”

“No, no... We must look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker-“

“Commander, did you not just hear me? The Templars will be of no help. And the mages have invited us to sit with them! Out of our options, one has _far_ better chances of getting this Breach closed.”

The Commander looks thoroughly chastised. Josephine covers her mouth with her hand daintily, hiding a small smile.

“You think the mage rebellion will be more united? It could be ten times worse, for all we know,” he argues. “Think logically! Do we want abominations everywhere-“

“That’s under Chantry doctrine!” She snaps, startling Josephine and Cullen.

Leliana and Cassandra stay impassive, though both want to hear what she has to say. She’s been very tight-lipped about her political inclinations thus far.

She takes a deep breath. “Abominations aren’t nearly as common as people, yes, even ‘well informed Templars’” She sneers, “such as yourself, think they are. They only happen when Chantry doctrine is enforced, in areas such as the circles.”

The adults are silent, the only noise a soft scratching of quill on paper as Josephine takes notes. Leliana looks like a woman putting together a puzzle.

“So if my opinion here doesn’t matter, _fine._ But I am not stepping foot near a Templar. Not _one._ ” She crosses her arms and tilts her chin up.

“We should consider our options,” Josephine says lightly. “We need agents in more places, as mentioned - something you can help with when you return to the Hinterlands. That should help us get started.”

_Josephine is a wonderful mediator and situation diffuser. She’ll have to take notes._

“When do we depart to the Hinterlands?”

Leliana answers this time. “Two days. That way we can get our affairs in order - and you can rest a bit. It also gives us time to settle smaller conflicts on the map,” Leliana spreads a hand to several markers.

“Your trip is meant to last around three months, with the mage-templar conflict spilling out and the work that must be done,” Cullen chimes in.

Anita nods, taking it all in. “Meeting adjourned?”

“Yes, you may go. We will settle more of this tomorrow afternoon.”

Leliana follows Anita, who is walking through the Chantry. “Herald, a moment.”

The girl turns to face her, a displeased expression on her face. “Please, call me Anita.”

“That would be improper, no?”

“I do not like the title,” Anita grits out. “Did you need something?”

“Yes, actually. While in the Hinterlands, I would like you to locate a man named Warden Blackwall. There will be directions on where he was last seen.”

Anita raises an eyebrow. “Why do you need a Warden?” And then, after a moment of thought, “and why ask after the meeting?”

Leliana sighs. “Because the Wardens have gone missing, all except King Alistair. The others do not think my concern important. I heard of this Warden Blackwall and wished to investigate. Can I count on you?”

Blue eyes search olive green. “Yes,” Anita says eventually. “I won’t let you down.”

Leliana lets her lips curve into a smile. “Good.” She pats the girl’s head as she goes by. “See to it that you don’t... _Anita._ ”

* * *

With very little to do, Anita spends the first half of the day resting and rubbing her salves and tinctures into her sore muscles. Then she picks up her daggers, unfortunately new, and goes to practice her form and blade work. When better to practice than when you’ve just relaxed?

It’s difficult, since she can’t use her magic, and she has to practice more often if she wants to be able to protect herself. After all, she’s relying on one form of protection now.

Seeker Cassandra is beating a practice dummy into nothing when she arrives, a look of clear, concentrated frustration on her face.

“Did the practice dummy offend you? I can have some words with it, if you’d like.”

Her extending a conversation to the woman surprises herself, but she smiles crookedly anyway.

The woman barely spares her a glance. “They are worries not befit a child, I would not place them upon you.”

Subira frowns. “But they involve me. I can tell. Pretty much _everyone’s_ worries nowadays involve me. It’s okay.”

Cassandra frowns herself, then says, “I wonder if I did the right thing,” very quietly. “One day, they may write me down as a mad woman, a _fool_ \- and they may be right. What I have set in motion will change _everything._ ”

Subira looks up. “Sometimes,” She starts, “We’re stuck between the rules we feel bound to, and the ideals we’ve adopted for ourselves. I think, Cassandra Pentaghast, that you did what you thought was right,” she takes her attention off of the sky, looking at the older woman now.

“I think you made the best decision you felt was possible in a situation where bad decisions surrounded you.”

Cassandra smiles a bit, feeling it tug at the scar on her cheek. “I... Thank you for your candor... Anita. You’re very wise, for someone so young.”

“Oh! Uh.. no problem, Seeker,” Anita blushes, not used to ‘thank-yous’.

She turns quickly, finding a relatively unused practice dummy and getting to work.

* * *

After bathing ( _bathing is a word for it - warm water and a cloth in her cabin isn’t exactly what she’d call luxury accommodation, but it’s_ something) and changing into a clean outfit, Subira made her way to the tavern.

She felt sore all over, but it was good to get into the habit of practicing again. After once again rubbing her salves into her sore muscles, she remembered that Varric said he had plenty of stories waiting for her at the Tavern should she choose to eat there with him.

It’s been awhile since she’s had a proper meal - her stomach thinks so, anyway - and so the Tavern beckons, warm and inviting. No one notices her, thankfully, entering from the side entrance with a hood pulled up. She spots Varric fairly easily, sliding in next to him and pulling the hood down.

“Makers hairy - Spitfire, you’re going to kill me one of these days, you know that?”

She smiles. “And then you’ll be six feet closer to your Ancestors!”

He laughs, taking a drink of his ale. “That’s true, Spitfire, that’s true! Now, let’s order you some food and we can talk.”

After flagging down Flissa - the Tavern is incredibly busy considering Haven has refugees, pilgrims from the Conclave, and villagers - who takes the order with a tired but thrilled smile and ordering a simple plate for dinner, she turns to Varric.

“So, lay it on me. What stories do you have for me?”

He has a mischievous spark in his eye. “I was thinking that we make a deal.”

She sighs. “What type of deal?”

“A story for a story. You tell one, I’ll tell one. We can go back and forth wherever we are and if it’s too much, you can pause or stop your story.”

“What happens if you stop your story?”

“It becomes the other person’s turn,” he smiles. “No pressure, y’know?”

She scoffs. “I know you’re being really nice and all right now, but I’m not made of glass. Make it higher stakes!”

He laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright! If you don’t finish your story, you have to...” he holds his chin between his thumb and forefinger, thinking. His eyes light up.

“You have to try to steal something from Nightingale.”

“Who - _Oh._ ”

He grins like a cat. “You too _scared_ for that?”

She finds herself grinning right back. “Oh, you’re _on._ ”

Cullen joins them tentatively, Varric calling him Curly in a vaguely affectionate tone, sitting across from them. He eats quietly. His shy and almost tentative nature reminds her that there is a person behind the Templar and she ruefully shakes the thought away.

When Flissa comes back with her food, she thanks her quietly and passes her far more coin than she should be owed for this, and the woman’s eyes widen.

“You’re her, then?” The barkeep puts her hands on her hips with a soft smile. “Figures the Herald of Andraste would overpay. Take your coin, Herald, it’s the least I can do.”

Varric watches the emotion play out on Anita’s face, the girl trying not to grimace. “No, please,” she insists. “I don’t need it, and I’ll be able to access more. You’ve been wonderful, thank you for dinner.”

Flissa looks like she’s about to fall at the feet of the teenager and start worshipping, her eyes are practically filled with stars. And while it’s a great humanizing moment that Varric could put in a book - actually, he couldn’t have written this girl’s story better if he tried, a story could not compare to the actual events happening in real time, and getting to witness it!- he can see how her expression shifts and her posture changes uncomfortably.

“Of course, Herald,” the woman beams. “Thank you for your generosity. You truly are what the world needs in these dark times.”

Subira watches the barkeep go with distant eyes. If only Varric could write ‘How to Save The World For Dummies - How My Idiot Friends Keep Saving the World’, it would be infinitely helpful to her.

“Spitfire!” He says suddenly, startling both Cullen and Subira out of thought. “How about that story? Curly was around for this one, actually, and I remember all the guards faces...”

Subira wonders what story to tell, yawning softly even as she listens with stars in her eyes about how Hawke, Varric, Isabela (and Fenris, who was convinced to come along but mostly just willing to watch them get themselves into trouble from afar) stole Meredith’s signature headpiece - a crown.

Cullen frowns in thought on small details, laughs quietly about the rage painted on Knight-Commander Meredith’s face when the crown was found on top of one of the statues outside of the Chantry - a statue of a quivering slave.

Subira particularly liked that story. She likes the Hero Version of Hawke that Varric paints, even if she knows that it’s likely she’s just a tired woman who did her best, and not a Hero. But she’s a good woman, in her books.

And admittedly, when she got her hands on a copy of The Tale of the Champion, she did read it. A few times, actually. The exciting adventures and clear exaggerations of Varric’s writing made her exhausting days brighter, until the book was found and burned in front of her. That scar hurt more than most of her physical ones. Mostly, it was a reminder to not get caught.

Hawke is better than what she is, anyway. Not even an adult and already committing crimes that would put a Merchant’s Guild member to shame. She can’t be selfless, she can’t give herself to a cause like Hawke gave herself to Kirkwall.

Subira wonders if she’ll survive by the end of the world.


	12. A Movement in the Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past visits Subira with two of her present allies. I wonder which one of them is able to de-escalate the situation. (Hint, Cassandra simply cannot catch a break here). Next chapter, onto the Hinterlands! This is just one of those mediums to give you an idea of how the main character is doing and everyone else is. Answer: Subira isn't doin too hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this to add in a scene because it was needed!!

Subira enters inconspicuously from the side entrance - as she always does - and joins Varric at his table and blinks.

Sera is there, joined by Cullen, Cassandra and even Solas. The elvhen mage seems less than enthusiastic about it, however.

“Oh,” she ends up saying. “Hello, everyone.”

“Hey, Spitfire,” Varric grins. “You’re just in time. How about that bet we made?”

Subira smiles uneasily, her eyes darting to the other people around. “I don’t know...”

“Well,” he grins, “you could always pass and steal-“

“No, no,” she waves her hands, “I’m good. I’ll tell a story. How about...”

She holds her chin in her hands, staring at the table. Her eyes light up.

“I’ll tell you a story about my friend Michalis!”

“That must be cheating-“ Varric complains.

“I’m in the story, you fool!” She laughs.

“Now, once upon a time a girl traveled through Nevarra...”

* * *

_It was supposed to be in and out. Castelleta and Herah were off scouting for other necessary supplies, and she was checking out a nobleman’s purse. It shouldn’t have enticed her so much - but after she saw the way he treated his servants, she knew she had to have it._

_ From the corner of her eye, she sees Castelleta approach their meeting place. One less thing to worry about. _

_ She’s almost close enough to slice the bag and run, all she has to do is- _

_ “Hey!” Castelleta shouts across the way. All eyes snap to attention. A figure is seen running away from her and she bolts. _

_Subira groans, knowing it’s now or never. She slices the bag and takes off in their direction, hearing muffled shouts of surprise seconds later._

_ Thirty seconds into running and she finds Castelleta with a young boy pinned up against a wall. “Woah, Cas, stop,” she says, pushing on her shoulder. _

_ “This little shit tried to steal from me-“ Her accent is thicker in her agitation. _

_ “Look at him, Cas,” she demands, pointing at him. He’s thin, dirty from what looks like days of running. And younger than them. _

_ “How old are you, kid?” Subira asks gently. _

_ The boys eyes fill with tears. “E-Eleven,” _

_She looks back at Castelleta as if to say ‘I told you so’. “Can you tell us your name?”_

_ “I’m Michalis,” he whispers, holding up the thing he stole from Cas. “I’m sorry I stole the food. I was just really hungry...” _

_ Subira shushed him. “It’s okay, kid. Come with us, we’ve got you.” _

_ His eyes brighten. “Really?” _

_ “Yeah,” she looks at Cas and while there’s a grumpy look on her face, she seems to be softening for the younger boy. _

_Shouts of guards and dogs sound close in the alleyways. “But we have to go, because some noble prick is going to be missing this,” she holds up a large sack of money with a grin, placing it into her satchel. “And we need to find Herah._ ”

* * *

“Did you get caught?” Sera asks, eyes wide.

She laughs. “No, thankfully I wasn’t going to be brought before - what are they called again? Mor - mor-“

“Mortalitasi,” Cassandra supplies, taking a sip of her ale.

“Them!” She exclaims. “Yeah, Michalis was on the run from them, it turns out.”

Cassandra turns still. “What?”

Subira shrugs. “Michalis is a mage, and I guess he was born into some family in Nevarra with royal ties. They wanted to induct him into the Mortalitasi, but he didn’t want that.”

Cassandra nods slowly. “I see,”

Subira cocks her head and then Varric asks, “Hey, Seeker, aren’t you like, royalty in Nevarra?”

“Oh, shit!” Subira exclaims. “Oh, fuck, please don’t tell me you’re part of _those_ Pentaghasts.”

Her laughter is getting hard to be maintained now. Cassandra raises an eyebrow.

“Unfortunately, I am. 78th in line for the Nevarran throne. In Nevarra, you may have heard my Uncles name mentioned-“

“-Vestalus,” Subira finishes, laughing so hard she can’t breathe. Cassandra blinks.

“I... stole... from... him,” she gasps between breaths.

Everyone at the table chuckles, ultimately watching the Seeker for her reaction. Finally, she blinks again, lifting her ale to the girl. “He deserved it,” she deadpans, taking a long drink.

They all erupt into laughter and giggles, more stories being shared and hands slapping on wood. Subira feels less alone.

* * *

Subira watches Haven from atop the walls. Cullen and Cassandra train the troops, the Commander shaking his head when the Seeker takes his soldiers down faster than she can blink. Varric tells stories around a small campfire with Sera hanging onto his arm. All of these people from different backgrounds, who she would’ve never known before-

“Observing, hm?” Vivienne’s voice breaks her out of her reverie. “And what do you see?”

Subira lets her eyes wander past, towards the rest of Haven. “A movement in the making?”

The older woman lets a smile spread across her face. “Yes, but more than that: an _opportunity._ You have here the most faithful gathered, all rallied behind you. Power like that is hard to come by.”

“Apparently so,” she murmurs.

“This can be used for very wonderful things, Herald,” Vivienne reaches and straightens a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Thedas as we know it is on the brink of change. Can you tell?”

She merely nods in response, a pensive expression on her face.

“Quiet today, hm? I wonder where your quick mind has run off to,” the older woman laughs lightly. “But I will leave you to your sulking, young one. Try not to waste the day like this.”

Before she can protest that she wasn’t sulking, Vivienne is going back the way she came. She sighs, turning to go find something to do for the day.

* * *

Vaguely, she remembers entering Josephine’s office once to speak to a woman named Maeve about some objects she picked up when in the Hinterlands - and seeing familiar Antivan candy sitting in a dish on her desk.

Now, _normally_ this wouldn’t interest her and she’d ignore the memory and walk away. However, these are a _very_ specific candy. The one they only ever gave to the _‘good’_ kids in the orphanage.

Nearly every shop owner had a few of these sitting out, though they never liked the orphan children in their stores, so it was rare that they got to enjoy them. Whenever she could get her hands on them, she savored them.

So she sneaks into Lady Montilyet’s office, quiet as a mouse. It’s the second day - before they’re going to depart to the Hinterlands - and about mid morning. Right now, the Ambassador and Leliana are having tea together and discussing reports, gossip and anything else that happens to come up.

Walking up to the desk, she brings her shoulders in closer, hunching. It makes it easier to run if she’s smaller. Reaching for the candy, she almost has it-

“What do you think _you’re_ doing in here?” Leliana’s voice is sharp and accusing behind her.

Her whole body tenses, causing her hand to falter. She turns very slowly, folding in on herself. “I was... I...” She doesn’t look up, too afraid to see angry eyes that remind her of the past. Her eyes are closing and if sound is falling away, soon she's going to hear-

“Sister Leliana, please, I’ll handle this.” Josephine hurries into the room, gently taking over the situation. Subira's eyes open and slowly, the feeling recedes.

Josephine gives the woman a pointed look. Instead of arguing, Leliana opens her mouth once, closes it, and nods before walking away.

Josephine closes her door softly, walking to stand in front of Anita.

“Your Worship?”

The girl doesn’t look up. “I’m sorry I was in your office, Lady Montilyet,” she whispers.

The Ambassador is curious. From what she’s seen of the child, she’s boisterous and not afraid of... anything.

“It’s quite alright, Herald. I’m just curious - what brought you here?”

A flush makes its way onto the girl’s cheeks. “I... the candy, in the bowl on your desk,” Josephine’s mouth forms an ‘O’, and her eyes softened.

“It’s a favorite of mine, from home. I used to steal it all the time and it’s just a habit-“

Josephine holds up a hand and she stops, just like that.

“It’s alright,” she reassures, “In fact, any time you want one, you may come take one.”

Anita looks up, disbelief and bewilderment coloring her features. Josephine smiles and goes to retrieve the bowl of candy.

“Here,” She holds it out to her. “Take one. Or two, I don’t mind.”

Slowly, eyeing the woman in front of her, she takes one piece of candy. She unwraps it and pops it into her mouth, closing her eyes and savoring the flavor.

“Thank you,” She says quietly.

“It’s not a problem, Your Worship. I don’t mind at all.”

She deflates, and Josephine feels concern bubble up. “Your Worship? Is something wrong?”

She looks down. “Can you... call me Anita? Please? At least when it’s just us and everyone else?”

Josephine looks like she’s going to protest, and Anita rushes to continue. Her green eyes are striking, almost like the fade, and Josephine finds it hard to look away.

“It’s hard to feel like a person anymore. I feel more like a figure.”

Then after a moment, Josephine nods, grinning when she sees the bright smile that this brings on the girl.

“You can come into my office whenever you’d like, Anita,” she says, testing out the name. “I’ll always allow you in. Any hour.”

“Okay.” Anita says, a small smile on her lips. Somewhere in her, she believes this kind Antivan woman.

After so long - nearly an entire month, to that insufferable Capital and back, including the trip to Bastien’s Estate - in the company of Cassandra, Varric and Solas, all she wants is some space. Peace and quiet, if you will.

She spends the rest of her day in Josephine’s office, dutifully - and without a word - assisting her in sorting her paperwork, delivering reports, and anything else she may need.

Sure, soon the two of them they will be called into the War Room and she will depart Cullen’s forces there, Leliana’s various scouts there, apply Josephine’s Ambassadorial skill there. But right now, there is calm. There is peace in the subtle motions of work.

When there is nothing left to do, she sits in a chair next to her desk, savoring the taste of sweet Antivan candy and good company.

* * *

They finally depart for the Hinterlands today, and Anita is already awake, looking at the ceiling. When the sun rises it barely makes its way over the small town until far into the day - Haven is shrouded by tall mountains and trees. But just barely, there’s warm light seeping in through her windows.

She’s getting dressed when there’s two sharp knocks on her door, and she goes to answer when Cassandra steps through. Anita yelps, going to cover her side - her chest is already bound, but it’s her scar she’s worried about. Her face twists up in an angry scowl.

“Why didn’t you wait?!” The girl barks at the older woman.

Cassandra has the decency to look guilty. “I... apologize, I... assumed you’d be in bed...”

“You assumed wrong!” She’s aware her voice is raising, but her blood is loud in her ears and her skin is tingling nervously and all she wants to do is _escape-_

“Anita, please lower your voice,” Cassandra asks gently. Her eyes catch on the tail end of the scar.

“This is what I didn’t want you to see,” she hissed, turning away. Revealing her back to the older woman shows more scarred skin, though significantly less than her front.

“Please leave me to get ready, Seeker,” Anita says, voice stiff.

“Of course, Herald,” Cassandra replies in kind, used to receiving orders. “We will be at the gate when you are ready to depart.”

When it’s obvious the girl isn’t going to reply, Cassandra quietly exits her cabin, not hearing her dissolve into tears when the door shuts.

* * *

A face of steel is in place when Subira arrives at the gate, her hair is tied back and wrapped. Josephine, the lovely woman, gave her a gift before she got too far past the Chantry - a headscarf, to hold her hair out of her face, in case tying it up wasn’t enough, and to help keep her cool. It is a light grey, made of strong cotton, and wrapped expertly around her head and shoulders.

Deep down, Subira was overjoyed that the older woman thought of her and gave her such a wonderful gift. But she only nodded and held Josephine’s hand firmly when she received it, uttering the quietest of _‘thank-you’s._

She probably mirrors the women from her home country, and she takes pride in that. _Hard working mage women make hard working mage women, it seems._

“Are you ready, Herald?” Seeker Pentaghast is on full display, a hand on her sword and eyes looking out towards the horizon.

“Yes, Seeker.” she replies.

Varric and Solas watch the exchange curiously, each looking as if it’s a game of chess that should be carefully picked apart and analyzed. Sera looks bored.

“Woohoo, more traveling,” Subira says sarcastically as they begin their trip.

“Lighten up, Spitfire,” Varric says unhelpfully, patting her shoulder as he walks by. “You’ll be in great shape by the time we get back!”

She groans loudly before following after him.


	13. Will Tomorrow Ever Come?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hinterlands are full of the aftermath of the Mage-Templar conflict. Subira feels crushed under the weight of all the work they must do. A new ally joins the mix.

From the outskirts camp just outside of the crossroads, they travel West, towards the closest Templar encampment. On the way they cross the path of a ram, and since they’re so close Subira declares they’re going to pause in the crossroads.

Arriving in the village caused Subira’s heart to break several times over. In her head is a to-do list:  

> _\- Assist injured refugees._
> 
> _\- Kill rams._
> 
> _\- Deliver rams to butcher._
> 
> _\- Establish Inquisition camps._
> 
> _\- Root out last Templar camps._
> 
> _\- Root out bandits on the roads._
> 
> _\- Acquire bear hides, if possible._
> 
> _\- Find Horsemaster Dennet._
> 
> _\- Acquire horses from Horsemaster Dennet._
> 
> _\- Get potion from Hyndel._
> 
> _\- Close rifts._

The last one she was the least excited about. Unfortunately she was sure her to-do list would grow even as she crossed things off mentally, so that was unfortunate. But the scouts she had spoken with a month prior did heed her word, and had been helping the refugees as much as possible.

Now, Varric, Solas, Cassandra and (for most party members anyway) unfortunately Sera, watch her work before they set off. She is hurrying between patients, helping the overworked and tired field medics. She whispers soothing words to the patients and rubs her self-made concoctions onto burns and she pours her potions down their throats. Many are encouraged to drink water or take a bite of food and sit up a bit.

Most are humbled, ecstatic when they realize the Herald of Andraste has come to help them in their hour of need. It’s clear to the three who have traveled with her that she’s uncomfortable, but for the sake of morale - and these injured, dying people - she will keep on. They can’t stay forever, and eventually Subira stands up and dusts off her knees.

“I’m going to need more elfroot, thankfully the Hinterlands is chock full of it...” she murmurs. “Oh, and the Healers here will need some, and I’m sure I’ll run into others who also do... and Corporal Vale needs...”

“Don’t get too lost in your head there, Spitfire,” Varric says. “Seeker says we gotta head out.”

“Okay, Varric! Coming.” Subira hums to herself as she returns her things to her satchel.

“Yeah, Harold!” Sera says teasingly. “Your brain will get all mushy!”

She makes weird faces with her lips, drawing a small laugh from the girl, but she doesn’t look up from what she’s doing as she mentally catalogues.

Her checklist now looks like this:

> _~~\- Assist injured refugees~~. _
> 
> _\- Kill rams._
> 
> _\- Deliver rams to butcher._
> 
> _\- Establish Inquisition camps._
> 
> _\- Root out last Templar camps._
> 
> _\- Root out bandits on the roads._
> 
> _\- Acquire bear hides, if possible._
> 
> _\- Find Horsemaster Dennet._
> 
> _\- Acquire horses from Horsemaster Dennet._
> 
> _\- Get potion from Hyndel._
> 
> _\- Close rifts._
> 
> _\- Acquire mage caches for Recruit Whittle._
> 
> _\- Harvest elfroot._

It’s going to be a _long_ three months in the Hinterlands.

* * *

Well, she’s certainly found a lot of elfroot, that’s for sure. Varric groans every time she stops to harvest a bit more and Sera stomps her feet.

The first thing on their list - and the easiest - is the rams, and there are supposed to be Templar and bandit camps in the direction they were pointed in.

Multitasking, it seems. The first bandit camp they stumble across is easy enough, she comes out with a few scratches and Cassandra has to come to her rescue when she takes on two bandits twice her size, but is otherwise a success.

Fighting their way through the Hinterlands makes Subira appreciate her down-low identity even more, and miss it. They arrive at a lovely looking stream and Cassandra nods to her. She declares they’re making camp, seeing as its already mid-day. They need to have camps set up throughout Thedas if they’re going to keep an eye on things.

She takes in the serene beauty of the Upper Lake Camp, as the scouts have begun to call it. There’s puddles but they’re shallow, and spindleweed lines the stream. Beckoning a Scout over, she doesn’t look up.

They salute. “At your service, Ser.”

“Oh, please, none of that,” she says vaguely. “I just need a favor. I’m going to be setting off again, and this isn’t of great import - I need someone to harvest as much of that spindleweed as you see?” One finger points at where she means while the other holds her map.

“Right away, Herald!” The Scout didn’t get the memo, clearly, saluting again. Sighing, she thanks them genuinely.

She surveys the map quickly, furrowing her brow. Warden Blackwall seems to be just up over this waterfall, if these directions are anything to go off of.

Pocketing her orders, maps and directions, she walks to the rocks, finding a good foothold and hoisting herself up. She’s already got a leg up and over to the top when the Seeker notices her.

“Herald! What in the Makers name are you doing?!”

“Sister Leliana-“ She grunts, slipping as she loses concentration. “-Said That Warden Blackwall could be found just over here. I am not going all the way around!”

Cassandra looks ready to argue, but Varric just pats her arm as he walks by, fastening Bianca to his back. She sighs, following him, Solas behind her.

Sera is already scrambling up right next to Subira. “Want a hand, Harry?”

Subira scowls. “No, _thank you!_ I can-“

Her hand slips and she frantically grasps for a handhold but finds none. Sera’s eyes widen, reaching for the girls shirt and missing.

All the Seeker sees is a wobbling Herald and a panicked elf and she moves, pushing her back into place. The girl has the decency to look sheepish, pulling back to show that with her reflexes she pulled a knife from... somewhere - and dug it into the closest place she could.

“But I thank you, dear Seeker,” she says playfully. “A knight in shining armor! Oh, all the women must swoon.”

The Seeker grunts and lets go of the girl, not confirming nor denying her jest. While the girl may have been joking harmlessly, those types of comments have always left her... unsettled. Especially about women.

“I know _I_ am!” Sera chirps, reaching a hand down to pull the girl up, who breathes heavily when she’s finally on her two feet looking at the lake they’ll have to walk around.

“Come on, slowpokes!” Sera mocks. “What, are you grannies or soldiers?”

“Neither!” Varric says with a breathy laugh. “I’m just a writer!”

“Words are a weapon of their own, Varric,” Solas says smartly, passing him and climbing up beside the Herald.

“Yeah, yeah Chuckles,” he mutters, climbing up another rock. “Mock me and the irony of my career choice.”

“He does have a rather succinct point, Varric,” Cassandra says thoughtfully, pulling herself up just a second before Varric.

She hesitates but extends a hand to him, and his eyes widen before grinning and accepting it.

“Always knew you liked me somewhere in there, Seeker!”

The woman grunts and turns to march through the sloshy wet ground to find a path. “ _And_ you ruined it.”

The Herald chuckles somberly. Walking slowly with the light surrounding her and bouncing off of the water, she looks regal.

“Isn’t that how it always is for people like us, Varric?”

“People like _us,_ Spitfire? You’re a little young for fatalistic wit.” He grins wryly from one side of his mouth.

She shrugs. “The things we touch turn to ash.”

With that, she walks forward with a quiet confidence, only stopping to harvest black lotus and some spindleweed along the way.

Sera whistles in the silence she left behind. “She’s a troubled one, ain’t she?”

Varric chuckles, gaining his bearings and walking after the girl who is going to wrap the world around her fingers.

“Aren’t we all?”

* * *

Finding Warden Blackwall wasn’t what she expected... at all. The Blight was a far away worry to a girl who roamed the streets of Antiva with dirty feet and hungry eyes. So she didn’t have quite an idea of what to expect - but this?

Somehow she expected him to look... less guilty. And more sure of himself. Instead, she’s met with a man who shoulders so much guilt she’s sure his shoulders are about to break. Bringing him into the Inquisition is questionable, but she also remembers Leliana’s words.

“Well, if you aren’t what we need...” She turns to walk away, looking at the quiet lake. It’s quite nice in the Hinterlands, when you get past the bears.

“Wait! Uh, Inquisition... Agent?"

Slowly, she turns. “Yes?”

“I, uh... a Warden is good for something, right?”

“What can a Warden do that I cannot, or a mage or a soldier cannot?” She challenges, folding her arms.

He scoffs. “Kill a fucking Archdemon if pressed,” she looks bored, so he continues on. “Listen, the Wardens didn’t have anything to do with this, I meant that. But if it’s soldiers you need... Maybe you need me. Maybe you need a _Warden.”_

His determination is decidedly genuine to her and she smiles. “Welcome to the Inquisition, Warden Blackwall.” She extends her hand to him.

“Well met, Lady...?”

“ _Herald,_ ” The Seeker says from beside her. “You are speaking to the Herald of Andraste.”

“I prefer Anita, _personally._ ” She says tightly.

He nods, noticing her stiff posture. “Well met, Lady Anita.”

“ _Varric!_ He does the thing that J - Lady Josephine does!” She complains.

“What did I do?” Blackwall asks curiously.

“Ah, Ruffles is just prone to polite titles and manners,” the dwarf waves a hand. “Our _Herald_ here doesn’t like it.”

“I call her Harry!” A blonde elf appears upside down from the large tree next to them, legs hung over a branch. “Or Harold, you know, because of Herald?”

 _“Makers left tit!”_ The man swears. “Has she been here the whole time?”

“Sure have, Beardy!” The girl flips out of the tree and lands on her feet.

He notes the bow on her back - so that’s where the arrows came from. At first he thought it was from the dwarf, Varric, but his crossbow uses bolts.

“You can come with us,” Anita offers, a hand motioning to her group. Sera and Solas glare at each other, and Cassandra barely hides her disdain for Varric. “We’re a group of misfits, but we’re fun. Unless you’d rather meet us at Haven.” She thinks on her offer and continues,

“However, we _are_ going to be in the Hinterlands for a little over three months. But the choice is yours, I don’t mind.”

Blackwall considers it, answering humbly, “I’d be honored to travel with the Herald of Andraste, if she’ll have me.”

Anita groans, tipping her head back. “None of that! If you’re going to travel with us I won’t hear any of it, got it?”

The man grins under his bushy beard. “Loud and clear. Allow me to gather my things?”

* * *

Blackwall informs them that just a few clicks away Horsemaster Dennet’s farm lays, and Anita seems to visibly sigh with relief.

Unfortunately, on the way there’s also a rift, nestled between rocks above a river. Before dealing with it officially, Anita establishes a camp a few hundred feet away from the river with some scouts who were passing by.

Sera stays behind with Blackwall, deciding that _‘demon-y shite’_ wasn’t for her. Anita sends them off to do something she heard one of the Scouts mention - a large druffalo was missing, and she needed them to locate it while they dealt with this. Additionally, there was some cache in the river that needed to be located so the Scouts could return it to the rightful owner in the name of the Inquisition.

Cassandra watches as Anita’s fingers twitch, nervous and restless but for the life of her she cannot figure out why. The girl sighs, cracks her knuckles and motions for them to follow her, and off they go to fight demons.

The rift crackles and spits in conjunction with the searing tear in the girls palm, lighting up her veins up to her wrist and she hisses in pain, shaking her hand.

When Solas approaches to take a look at it, she brushes him off with a firm stare and mutters something in Antivan before getting into position. He only shakes his head before drawing his staff, encouraging Varric and herself to draw their weapons as well.

The rift suddenly explodes in a burst of light and with it, demons spawn. Immediately from it a lesser terror and two wraiths appear, splashing and hissing menacingly. Anita throws down a bottle before disappearing in a puff of smoke and reappearing on the other side, slashing at a wraith. Solas casts a barrier over her and the battle truly begins; Varric provides backup to their Herald by shooting bolts into the wraith, sending it back into the rift.

Cassandra shieldbashes the terror, stunning it before running it through with her sword. The warrior makes quick work of it while Solas and Anita tag-team the wraith on the other side and it falls under their onslaught. With a smirk, she goes to close the rift-

It blows her backwards, a terror landing on top of her in the freezing water. She gasps for air, attempting to escape without magic but the terror removes itself and she shudders, forcing herself back into action.

Varric yells something unintelligible when the girl falls, but Solas and Cassandra understand well enough - _get to her!_

The Seeker felt her heart stop when Anita goes down, even if it was only for a second. Hair dripping and expression angry and determined, she looked like a fierce heroine. Easily enough they dispatched the rest of the demons and Anita lifts her hand to the rift.

She slowly forms a fist, dragging backwards until the rift becomes smaller and smaller. With an explosive crash, the rift seals, and Anita stumbles, a little dizzy from the magical transfer, but successful and smiling slightly.

“Scared us for a second there, Spitfire.” Varric claps her on her shoulder.

She laughs. “Let’s go find this Horsemaster, shall we? This water is cold.”


	14. Will I Make It Through The Night?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horsemaster Dennet is introduced to the Inquisition and Subira makes a furry friend.

Dennet is curt and to the point, something no one else in the Hinterlands seemed capable of being. Subira is glad for it, when she all but stomped in soaking wet and exhausted. He was polite but firm, pointed them in the direction of Bran and that was it.

Now they’ve got watchtower locations to set up, and after speaking with his wife they learned about some weird wolves. Subira snorts, _Demon wolves. What’s next?_

A voice calls after them on their way off of the property. “Excuse me, little lady! Herald!” They turn to see Dennet standing next to a large Ferelden Forder in a paddock, saddled up and brushed.

“You’re the one who’s going to put the world back together, so you need the finest mount you can get. Take care of him, and he’ll take care of you.” Dennet reaches through and pats the large horse on the shoulder.

 _“Oh!_ I certainly... I couldn’t,” she says. “My companions don’t have mounts, so we’ll have to leave him here for now. I’m sure he’ll be in good hands.” To the confusion of everyone, she turns to keep walking.

A woman appears. “Hold on! Why don’t you try out my race-course on that horse my father just gave you?” She’s got a huge grin on her face and her hands on her hips.

“I mean... I don’t know...”

“Go for it, Spitfire!”

“Varric, we shouldn’t-“ Cassandra begins out of the corner of her mouth.

Varric lowers his voice. “Let the kid have some fun, Seeker.”

Hesitantly, Subira makes her way to the large mount, reaching her hand through the gap. His large muzzle noses her hand and she giggles, rubbing his snout gently. “You like that, huh? Oh, you’re just a big softie,” she murmurs.

Before anyone can get a word in edgewise, she’s climbing over the fence, petting him and cooing. Subira climbs on to the second rail of the fence with wobbling legs, barely able to find her balance.

Cassandra’s eyes widen when she realizes what she plans to do. _“Anita!_ Be careful, I could just-“

Subira ignores her. With one hand on the saddle and a foot in the stirrup she swings up, pushing off of the fence. It looks a bit like a scramble because of how large the horse is, and she looks tiny on him, but it looks right.

With a grin, she leans down and hugs the horse. “I love him!” She declares.

The woman, Seanna, she introduced herself as, clears her throat. “You going to run my course?”

Subira’s grin widens. “Of course!”

Seanna explains how it works, shows the markers and gets into position. They adjust the saddle a bit so she can properly ride, and then the woman is at the gate, about to open it.

_“Three... Two... One... Go!”_

She takes off, riding his neck and weight off of his back just the way she always did before. His strong legs and powerful thundering hooves tear up the ground beneath them and she doesn’t even realize it’s happening before she lets out a happy yell, encouraging him on through the course. He grabs the bit and charges forward, leaping over a stonewall. In the background, she can hear Varric cheering and Cassandra worrying but all she notices is how free she feels.

It‘s reminiscent of when Subira broke Castelleta out.

* * *

_Aside from the servants, not a soul was awake in the Orlesian manor. The sticky humidity sticks to Subira’s skin as she slowly opens Castelleta’s window, silent as a mouse when she crawls in. She turns to find the girl not in her bed. Panic seized her throat and a flame erupts from her hand for light._

_Castelleta is to her left, rolling her eyes. She places a finger to her lips and jerks her head to the window. Subira nods, extinguishing the flame and gesturing to her. Cas exits first and Subira after her, gently closing the window. They climb the trellis and carefully make their way down._

_Like shadows they move, the only noise the slight rustling of Castelleta’s night dress. When they arrive to the stables, the girl immediately begins shucking it off._

_“Do you have the clothes?”_

_Grinning, Subira digs through the bag she packed and hands the girl comfortable cotton trousers and breathable shirt. Castelleta changes quickly while Subira messes with the bags on the horse she stole somewhere else._

_“Cas, I saddled up a horse in that stall,” she points to the right. “Get on, and let’s go.”_

_For a moment, it’s still, and Subira tilts her head. “Cas?”_

_Castelleta, the taller of the two, steps forward and hugs her best friend tightly. “Thank you,” She says thickly. It sounds like she’s crying._

_“Oh, Cas,” she whispers. “You’re my_ best _friend. I love you-“_

_“More than death loves an Orlesian party,” Cas pulls back, grinning. The tears in her eyes sparkle as she grins._

_“Exactly,” Subira says, matching her grin. “Now let’s leave this hellhole behind.”_

_Castelleta nods, lacing up the simple boots she was able to steal and hide in the barn for this moment. Quietly she opens the stall door, cooing to the horse and walking her out. They mount underneath the shadows and trot quietly until they’re at the edge of the property. Cas slows to a stop._

_“Cas?”_

_“It is... hard to leave my life behind.” The Orlesian looks back at her home. “But I will not miss it.”_

_She rips the ribbon with her family colors out of her hair and throws it on the ground, grinning at Subira wildly before taking off in a gallop._

_Subira laughs and takes off after her. Castelleta’s laugh sounded like freedom and Subira’s soul feels light and together they might’ve found a family._

* * *

The wind is whipping in her hair and hitting her face and before she knows it she comes up on the end of the course, shaken by the memories.

“That was amazing!” Seanna exclaims.

“Spitfire, you’ve been holding out on us!”

Cassandra is quiet, as usual, but seems to be watching her closely. Subira breathes deeply.

“Yeah, well,” she struggles to find the words. “I don’t ride much.”

“Why not?” Seanna asks loudly. “With skills like that, you should be-“

“Orphans don’t typically have the money to ride,” Subira says a bit flatly, dismounting the horse. “Especially when I was using my skill to steal.”

He barely even broke a sweat, but she still walks him forward and away from the prying eyes and ears until he seems more relaxed.

She tries to hand him back over to Seanna and requests that he stay here until mounts for everyone can be acquired.

Seanna grins, earlier conversation forgotten. _“Well,_ I can help you with that.”

Subira raises an eyebrow. _Maker, please no more riddles or favors._

“They aren’t warhorses, like this big guy,” she pats his shoulder. “But we have some horses that are just as good for riding, if your companions need mounts.”

Subira could’ve cried with relief. “Yes! _Please,_ that would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Seanna says kindly. “We want to help however we can. Even if we can’t send the warhorses until the crossroads are clear, we can still help the Herald and her companions travel faster.”

By the end of the visit, Cassandra, Varric and Solas each have a mount. Seanna told them that if they ever need another to ‘come see her’.

Riding out on her Ferelden Forder feels different than walking around to do things, and she squirms uncomfortably in her seat.

“This will shorten our time in the Hinterlands greatly,” Solas comments.

Cassandra nods. “Absolutely. We must make use of this, and immediately get to work.”

“We haven’t been up that way,” she points to a pass that’s East of the farm. “I want to see if anyone needs help.”

And so begins the story of Subira and things she wishes she didn’t say.


	15. Will There Ever Be a Place For The Broken in the Light?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Subira understand each other far more than one would think they do. Varric and an eavesdropping Seeker learn more about the burden she bears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand some of these chapters are rather short, and I have to do that purposely - I'm separating the writing I have based on information and how it needs to be received, so if I group one thing somewhere but need it to be somewhere else, it doesn't have the same effect, ya dig? Basically some are short just for the impact of the message I'm trying to get across. Watch out for those ones! Curve balls, I tell ya!

Eventually they finish clearing the way that Anita pointed out. An Elvhen woman had her ring stolen by Templars and Cassandra has never seen the teenager become so livid so quickly. The familiar eerie flash of fade-green snaps over her eyes, but it’s gone in a second. Curiously, Solas seems to have noticed it as well this time.

Anita, with a single-minded focus, tracks the Templars down. She was deadly efficient and her use of poisons and tricks on the field made them no match for her. She’s left heaving, standing over the last Templar with the ring in her fist. Her green eyes almost swirl.

“Hey, kid?”

Her head snaps up. “Yes, Varric?”

“You... okay?”

Anita pauses, and very quietly comes the reply:

 _“No,_ Varric. No I’m not.”

She begins walking back to the widow’s cabin while the sun sets softly in the background.

That night they’re all exhausted as they make it back to the camp right next to the Redcliffe Farm. Cassandra takes her time polishing and rubbing down her armor, then moving onto her sword and shield. During the time it takes her to settle down, eat a small meal and prepare for bed, she notices that Anita is absent. With a thoughtful frown, she walks off into the night with a torch to check the perimeter.

Anita is crouched by the lake, having scrubbed her hands raw. Soft crunching alerts her to the mages presence.

“Hello, Solas,” she greets quietly.

He says nothing, merely kneeling beside her to examine her hands gently and then standing, hands behind his back.

“What was it?” Is what he eventually asks.

She barely utters, “what?”

And so he repeats, “What was it that you saw?

She looks into his knowing eyes and thinks that this is the price of Pride, then - _knowledge._ His grey eyes hold a sense of hurt and understanding in them that must’ve come at a high cost.

“Everywhere I look, Solas,” her voice trembles and she looks back at the calm lake. “It’s blood. Always on my hands, on my arms, and I can’t... I can’t get it off,” her voice is a murmur.

“Being a hero is not kind, is it,” she turns her gaze back up at him. His expression becomes painfully stifled before he closes his eyes and exhales.

“No, da’len,” he answers truthfully. “It is not. Nor is it fair. For that, I am sorry.”

She isn’t sure _why_ he’s apologizing - whether it’s on account of the fact that she’s forced into this situation or, maybe he isn’t apologizing to her at all, but she nods anyway, her eyes slipping closed.

“Me too,” she whispers.

* * *

The wound on her heart made by the elvhen widow does not close easily. It is days of constantly snapping at those near her and retreating quickly, pushing them further and further from her - or trying to. Varric says one night, when everyone is laying around the campfire and half asleep,

“Kid, you alright?”

And she exhales, her hands forming fists, composing a shaky answer:

“It is... hard, fighting this war. These Templars, leashed to a cause that most were bound to by birth,” Across the campfire, a Seeker winces at the truthful statement, “would take and take and _take..._ don’t they know when enough is _enough?_ That killing women and children and husbands and fathers is enough? How much blood will be _enough?!”_

Her sudden spike in pitch startles Varric briefly. Cassandra is smart enough to keep her breathing even and eyes closed - even if she’s constantly surrounded by reminders that they truly don’t know who this girl is.

Anita’s hand clenches. “That widow... her ring. I’m glad... I’m glad I could return that to her. To _someone.”_

It’s quiet for several moments.

“Goodnight, Varric, _Seeker._ May Andraste guide you both tonight, for a safe travel through the fade. I am going to check the perimeter.”

Anita stands fluidly and vanishes into the night. Cassandra shakes her head and shares a look with Varric, who knows she is awake now.

 _“Fighting this war...”_ Varric chuckles under his breath.

“What was that, Varric?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, Seeker.”

But they both went to bed that night with much to think about.


	16. Out of my Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinterlands Shenanigans. We learn more about the relationship of the mark and Subira. She also cannot seem to stop getting injured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a shortone and I just wanted to add it :^)

“Sera, for the last time, I _can’t_ condone you nicknaming Solas _‘the Eggiest-Elf’_ or anything of that sort,” Subira sighs from the saddle. Sera rides next to her on a shorter horse - a morgan, Seanna said.

The elf in question whines. _“Aw,_ why not? The name fits, don’t it?”

Subira would never admit it out loud, but she did agree with Sera’s description. But Solas’ tutelage is too integral for her to risk him being insanely vain, or simply insulted by the childish jaunts. Plus, an elf named _‘Pride’_ most likely would _not_ appreciate it.

“Because Solas doesn’t look like an egg, silly,” is what she says.

Cassandra rides behind them, her distinct scowl in place. Her eyes show the tired look of a woman babysitting insufferable children. She sits on a larger horse - a warmblood, Seanna told them - to hold her armor and herself comfortably. Blackwall sits on a warmblood similar to hers, and the two converse quietly every now and then.

Of course, Blackwall seems to have taken a shine to Sera (and Subira, if she’s honest) and both girls quirks, so Cassandra occasionally looks like she is considering the pointy end of her sword as the _most_ reasonable option for herself.

Mentally, Subira goes over what they have to do. It’s been three days, packed with correspondence and tasks. Solas, Varric, Sera and herself set out two days ago to kill and deliver the rams that the refugees at the Crossroads needed. She made sure to distribute the herbs she’d been collecting and drying, the healers there thanking her profusely.

The three of them even managed to finish up clearing the Crossroads! Which leaves cleaning up the rest of the Hinterlands and the rifts.

It is progress, however, and Subira will take it. Right now they’re going out to mark watchtower locations - as soon as that’s done, they’re going to send a runner back to Haven to request that the Commander send soldiers to build the towers.

Then, they’re going to figure out the demon wolves. They’ll close any rifts, of course, and deal with any Templars or bandits in between.

Thankfully the only mages they’ve run into have been desperate men or women battling, and were half dead when they stumbled across them.

It’s Subira’s hope that if they come across an actual group of mages that she can save them. There could be children, they could be people like Castelleta or Herah or anyone of their group. But she won’t hold out hope, knowing the people she’s traveling with.

She sighs, slumping in her saddle. It’s _a lot_ to deal with. And they’re still going to be here for at least a month, with the time cut down by having horses - they have to make their way to Redcliffe to meet with the rebel mages eventually. And who knows when that’s going to happen, most likely at the end of Harvestmere, when things settle down.

“Ey!” Sera leans from her horse to Subira, tugging on her leg. Subira jolts.

 _“Maker!_ Sera, don’t do that!”

“You were gettin’ caught in the net of those brains,” she knocks a fist against her own head. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost in there!”

Subira smiles. “Thanks, Sera.”

Sera smiles crookedly and waves it off. “Listen, I heard-“

An arrow whistles and does not pierce her armor, but knocks her from her horse. Her startled yell alerted the others into action; Sera drew her bow from the back of the horse and took aim and Varric did very similarly. Cassandra and Blackwall draw their swords and dismount, charging into battle. Solas casts spells from the back of his horse.

 _“Dammit,”_ She grunts, dislodging the arrow from her armor. “That’s going to bruise tomorrow.”

Subira’s breath has been pulled from her but she manages to stand and draw her weapons. She joins the fight from behind one of their archers, drawing her blade across his throat, rolling to the side to avoid an arrow at close range and thrusting the dagger into the next archers throat. Her face is sprayed with warm blood and she nearly sputters but she just spits, does not stop to wipe her face. There’s more blood on her than when they started and she can’t bring herself to care.

Turns out the area is a watch tower location. Good thing they cleared out the bandits, then. One less thing to do. They’ve only got a few more.

* * *

They just happened to stumble into the deranged wolves, of course. On their way back from marking the rest of the watchtowers - it’s now late, late in the day and the wolves seem even more menacing.

It was a demon, brought through by a nearby rift - and somehow slipped through - causing the disturbance in their behavior. She knew this before the others did, but she didn’t dare say so - how would that look if she announced the mark made her privy to all of its secret dealings?

It wasn’t really communication, it was just... _a feeling,_ as they got closer. And when they stumbled - well, walked close enough - into the wolves den, she knew. The first wolf came from the side, lunging at her with swirling green eyes and foaming mouth. Luckily she has relatively good reflexes, because otherwise she’d have been being gnawed on by a rabid, fade-affected wolf.

She managed to duck and roll away just in time, the claws just barely missing her neck and instead ripping open three lines on her shoulder. They weep openly, spilling blood down her arm, and she cries out before gritting her teeth and drawing her weapons. If she doesn’t, she’ll die.

Facing off with the wolf, she waits until it makes a move. When it lunges, she ducks and slams her dagger into the ribs of the animal. It falters with a loud cry, and she kicks it off, quickly finishing it with a blow into its neck.

When she turns, everyone else was finishing up. Cassandra slit the throat of a wolf and it died with a weak cry, Blackwall released his from its position pressed into a wall and it falls limply to the ground. Sera fires an arrow into the last one, snarling and growling with blood on its muzzle, ending its life.

Her hand cracks and the mark infecting her hand clenches, almost as if in anticipation. Shuddering, she stumbles towards where she knows the source to be, ignoring the concern of the others.

She feels the sickly fade-green infection spreading up her shoulder and into the injury she acquired from the wolf. Somewhere in the back of her mind she is calmed, somehow knows it’s fine, that the mark is only there to help.

Suddenly a terror demon springs up, wearing the same magical signature as the one in the wolves. Startled, she stumbles back and Cassandra charges at the monster.

Subira is so dazed after the dispelling of energy from killing the terror demon she does not realize she’s on her knees afterwards. Her ears ring and when she blinks, suddenly Cassandra is in front of her, hands on her shoulders and wearing a frown.

“-olas, what is happening?”

“I _believe_ this to be side effects of the mark. I do not think they’re permanent.”

“You don’t _think-?!”_

She looks at the hand Cassandra has on her injured shoulder. “Move it,” the woman furrows her brow. “Your hand, move it, I need to see...”

The woman reluctantly, with a raised brow, moves her hand, as Subira looks at her shoulder. The injury shrank, the three lines significantly smaller and no longer weeping blood, only wet to the touch and dried on the edges. When she presses down, green tendrils swirl in the surrounding skin before disappearing.

“Anita!” Cassandra admonishes, leaning in closer. “When did you get that?”

Subira looks up, still very dazed. “The... wolf? _Yes,_ the wolf. But... it is fine, Seeker. Do not worry.”

Blackwall steps forward, bandages in hand. “Here, little lass,” he says gruffly, kneeling. She offers her shoulder minutely, causing a frown from Cassandra - because she never allows anyone to treat her without a fight, nor does she typically allow strangers so close.

Blackwall quietly wraps her shoulder with the bandages as best as he can, thankful that her armor is lighter with thinner layers underneath.

“Let’s move,” Cassandra says when he finishes, standing.

Subira doesn’t move for a moment, only looking up at the Seeker. It suddenly registers and she nods, standing as well. She sways on her feet and Cassandra reaches out to steady her. Subira allows it, even leaning into the warrior in her haze.

When they get to the horses, Subira looks up at her Ferelden Forder and murmurs, “oh, _no.”_

“Something wrong, Spitfire?” Varric has concern written into his face, already mounted on his pony - when did that happen?

“No, no, it’s fine,” she murmurs, leading the horse to a large rock and climbing up, carefully mounting. Her eyes slip shut more than once.

Subtly, Cassandra ties their horses together, but Subira doesn’t notice. She keeps a grip on her saddle and heels down, but her head bobs. She’s barely able to make out the dregs of conversation.

* * *

When Subira wakes next, she blearily blinks her heavy eyes and smacks her dry mouth together, wincing at her sore shoulder. Tentatively, she presses onto the skin around it and this time there are no green tendrils - she must’ve imagined it. Rubbing her eyes, she sticks her head out of the tent.

“Hey, you,” she calls to the nearest scout.

At the sight of their leader so disheveled they jump and salute, but before they can offer her anything she says:

“How long have I been out? Where is everyone?”

The scout swallows. “You have been asleep for two days, my Lady. The Seeker has lead a group out to finish the tasks in this section of the Hinterlands, they should be back soon.”

Subira nods slowly. “Thank you.” She retreats into the tent and lays back down.

Two days, and they’ve probably been getting things done. That’s useful, actually. They can move on to another part of the Hinterlands and set up more camps, and they can also see about that meeting in Redcliffe.

_A month left._

* * *

When Cassandra returns she’s completely ready to go, dressed, stretched and she changed her own bandages. The woman tries to not fret over her like a motherhen and fails miserably. Subira holds back a yawn.

“We can travel here,” Cassandra points to a marked section of the Hinterlands. “Now, when we have finished our work there I believe it is in our best interest to meet with Grand Enchanter Fiona.”

Subira nods. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Good, then we shall depart. We have much to do before this trip is done.”

“That we do, Seeker,” she murmurs. “That we do.”


	17. Ever On and On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting with Grand Enchanter Fiona for the first time in a long time. Things get heated in the Inquisition - there is no way forward that doesn't make them all uneasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all as I'm editing this chapter and going on to 18 - which is the Back to the Future chapter, as I jokingly call it in my head - and I kinda forgot how heartwrenching I wrote it. Oops. My idea is that... she's fifteen, nearly sixteen. All of this is going to be too much too fast, and that's how this is supposed to be experienced. She's a kid, not an adult. Poor Su :(
> 
> Also I'm adding a second edit from days later, I'm gonna post this tonight so that you guys have something because I'm starting work at the barn this week and I'm not sure when I'll be able to update/write more in my notes for draft chapters.

After another week of traveling, picking up odd-jobs on the way and then two weeks of completing what they came there to do, they are finally ready to meet with the mages.

“Send a scout ahead,” Subira says, looking down at the map. The nearest scout nods, saluting before swiftly exiting the tent.

“There are strange reports from Redcliffe, Seeker,” she says, pointing at the map. Cassandra leans down with a frown. “Look at the dates. Some are reporting it to be twenty-six Harvestmere, others report it to be twenty-one Harvestmere, and some report that they aren’t sure what day it is at all.”

Subira says worries her lip between her teeth. _If it has anything to do with how the Grand Enchanter was acting, then the mages are either in big trouble or about to be._

“We will look into it,” the woman promises. “We must get going if we’re going to arrive by mid-day.”

On the list of things Subira wasn’t expecting, the time-altering rift was one of them. Expecting to make a clean cut to the demons hamstring, instead she goes flying forward when time speeds up and she gasps, the air leaving her lungs too quickly for her to breathe it in.

She fights her hardest and notices that Cassandra and Varric are having a similar problem. Solas seems intrigued by the odd rift. _Lucky him,_ she grumbles to herself. _He gets to stay out of range._

The rift doesn’t resist her when she lifts her hand to it, the mark sucks it back in almost faster than usual and she gasped, clutching her hand. Cassandra steps forward in worry, but Subira turns to address the scout they sent ahead hours ago.

“Word?”

“You should know that no one knows we’re coming, my Lady,” the scout reports. “You can find the Grand Enchanter in the pub, however. Also, dispatch for you.”

Subira takes it with a furrow in her brow and then smiles broadly, folding it and handing it back to the scout.

Seems like in their three weeks of travel, Cullen sent his soldiers and the first of the watchtowers have been built. Dennet is already preparing to send the horses for when the last one is completed and soldiers are stationed there.

“Thank you,” she smiles, saluting with a slight bow and starting forward.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

* * *

The tavern is warm and welcoming when she enters, the exact opposite of the feeling that courses through her when Fiona makes eye contact. This one knows her.

_Then who was in Val Royeaux?_

“Hello, Inquisition,” she says politely. “What have I done to gain the honor of this visit?”

“Grand Enchanter,” she clears her throat. “You... visited us. In Val Royeaux, and invited us here.”

Subira uses her eyes and pleads with Fiona not to give anything away. While Subira knows she hasn’t been there since before the rebellion, it wouldn’t do for others to know that she knows that.

“It couldn’t have been me,” she says with a furrowed brow. Subira nearly breathes a sigh of relief. “I have not been to Orlais nearly since before the rebellion.”

“It was someone who looked and sounded exactly like you, extending an invitation to negotiate with the mages,” Cassandra interjects.

“I wish I could do just that,” Fiona says patiently, looking at Subira with an apology. “But _I_ no longer have the ability to negotiate with _anyone.”_

 _“What?”_ Subira exclaims.

“The rebel mages are in the service of Magister Gereon Alexius,” She grits out, like the words hurt to say. “as someone indentured to a magister, I _cannot_ negotiate with you.”

“How... _could you!”_ Subira half-yells before she can stop herself.

Fiona’s eyes turn sad and she looks away.

A door slams open and Subira turns to see a weathered Tevene man in a hood. This must be Alexius.

“Ah, I apologize, my friends! I am Magister Gereon Alexius. And you would be the Herald?” He asks Cassandra, not giving Subira a second glance.

“Actually, Magister,” she says. “That would be me.”

His gaze turns to her immediately. “I see. Well, take a seat, take a seat. You need mages, I have them. Let’s negotiate.”

She sits across from him, eyes hard. “Listen to me, and listen to me _good,_ Magister. I don’t know why you’re so far south. Frankly? I don’t care. But I know you shouldn’t have these mages. Something isn’t right here.”

He laughs at her, causing her scowl to deepen. “Oh, a _feisty_ one! Tell me, how many people does _that_ work on?

“It works on many when my dagger is in their stomach.” She spits.

His eyes close off and he stops laughing. _“Enough_ of this. What are you willing to give for these mages?”

Her scowl becomes a twisted grin and she leans forward. “Oh, I can give you a few things-“

Fiona looks on with alarm, but Subira gives her a hard look. This is not a conversation they can have here.

A man much younger stands next to their table and Alexius laughs to attempt to break the tension. “Felix, would you write this down for me, please? Forgive my manners; my son Felix, friends.”

Felix comes forward and for the slightest second makes eye contact with her. She knows something is going to happen before it does, and she reacts immediately when he falls into her arms, grasping the piece of paper thrust into her hand.

Quickly she helps him stand, genuinely concerned. He does look rather pale, the veins under his skin purple instead of blue.

 _“Felix?_ Felix, are you alright?” His father is fluttering around him like a bird.

“We will have to continue this later. Fiona, you’re needed in the castle.”

Hastily, they exit the tavern, leaving the four of them. She opens the note.

“ _‘Come to the chantry, you’re in danger.’_ ”

Varric sighs. “Aren’t we always?”

“Afraid so.”

She walks to the door, about to open it when she feels a soft tug on her sleeve. “Excuse me, miss,” his voice is quiet and toneless.

“Yes?”

“I heard you’re with the Inquisition and I was wondering if I could seek protection there.”

She sees the symbol on his head and her heart clenches. “Of course,” she replies softly. “Find any Inquisition Scout, tell them the Herald sent you. You are welcome there, you will be safe.”

“Thank you.”

She shudders. Tranquil have always made her slightly uncomfortable, not that it’s their fault.

Walking into the Chantry she expects Felix to meet her, not a very smug man who knows how handsome he is with a perfectly groomed mustache. He’s observing a rift that sits in the middle of the room, spewing out demons for him to disperse of.

He harrumphs. “Oh, perfect! A little help with this?”

She jumps into action, her companions following behind her. Solas’ barrier falls over her like a chilly water fall and she fearlessly attacks the first demon she sees. She was panting by the end of the second wave but raised her crackling hand up anyway and sealed the rift.

“How does that work, anyway?” The mustache-man asks. She looks down at it. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom!”

She shrugs. “Yeah, that’s about right. Now, who are you?”

He laughs carelessly. “Right to business, are you? Well, I’m Dorian of House Pavus, most recently Minrathous. How do you do?”

Cassandra curls her lip up behind her, but Subira pays her no mind. “I am Anita, but some call me the Herald of Andraste.”

“Well met, Anita,” he grins genuinely, “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance here should prove most invaluable.”

Subira is absolutely _in love_ with him. Not in a _romantic_ sense, in a _‘I-love-his-aesthetic-choices-and-personality’_ sense, and she already knows she’s going to accept his help.

“Not that I don’t enjoy your _charming_ company,” she wiggles her eyebrows to the best of her ability, causing a small laugh to erupt from her new acquaintance. “But where _is_ Felix?”

“He should be here soon,” he assures her. “He was supposed to get you the note, and then meet us here after ditching his father.”

“Is Felix... okay?” She had noticed the paleness of his skin and sickly clamminess to it, the slight shake of his hands and how he seemed unsteady. All of it seemed too real to be an act.

Dorian shakes his head and answers quietly. “Felix has been sick for many months.”

Cassandra steps up next to her, arms crossed with a firm expression on her face. “And why would you help us? You’re betraying your _mentor_ because..?”

Unperturbed, Dorian turns with a shrug. “Alexius was my mentor. He is not any longer. Not... for some time.”

He takes a deep breath. “Look,” he addresses this mostly to Cassandra. “You must know there’s danger to this one,” he points at Subira, “here. _That much_ should be obvious.”

She nods, not changing her stance. Subira glares at her, stepping forward with a warm smile to Dorian.

 _“Any_ information you have would be greatly appreciated, Dorian.”

He smiles. “Well, let's start with Alexius claiming the mages right out from under you,” She scowls and he nods. “Almost like magic, yes? That’s exactly what it was. Alexius manipulated time to arrive here before the Inquisition and pull their allegiance out from under you.”

Her scowl deepens. “Why a few hundred mages? What could he possibly need with them?” And then she backtracks, _“Time manipulation?”_

“The rift you closed here. You saw how it affected time around it, yes?”

Her companions slowly nod. “The magic Alexius is using is _wildly_ unstable. Soon, there will be more rifts like that one, further away from Redcliffe.”

“I’ve seen a lot in my time, Sparkler,” Varric says. “But time control? You’re going to have to give us a little more than _‘take my word for it’.”_

Solas hums his agreement, examining the man with a disinterest - though wary.

Dorian pinches the bridge of his nose. “I _helped_ _develop_ this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was _entirely theoretical._ Alexius couldn’t get it to work. But you’re right, I don’t understand either. Why rip time to shreds to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

A new voice joins the conversation in the empty Chantry. “He didn’t do it for them,” the figure reveals itself to be Felix in the dim, flickering light. “He did it to get to _her.”_

 _“Me?”_ Subira looks left and right. “What does he want with me?”

Her first thought is, _did I steal from him in the past?_ And then her next thought was, _oh fuck, what if that’s what it is?_  She's known the rich ones to hold grudges.

“Took you long enough,” Dorian quips warmly. “Is he getting suspicious?”

“Sorry,” Felix apologizes. “And no, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he would be fussing over me all day.”

He turns to Subira and her companions. “My father has joined a cult. The Venatori, they’re called. Tevinter Supremacists, and whatever he’s done for them? He’s done it to get to you.”

Cassandra’s scowl deepens. “Alexius is your father. Why work against him?”

Felix sighs. “I love my father, and I love my country. But this? It’s _madness._ For his own sake? You _have_ to stop him.”

“It would _also_ be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in time,” Dorian says dryly. “There’s _already_ a hole in the sky.”

“Well,” Subira says when there’s a few moments of silence. “Do you have any ideas?”

Dorian grins. “You already know that he wants you. Expecting the trap is the first step to overcoming it. I can’t stay in Redcliffe; Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Subira nods, already mentally planning for the trip back to Haven and pausing their Hinterland work.

“But whenever you’re ready to deal with him? I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.”

He begins walking away, but turns. “Oh and, Felix?” Felix looks up. “Try and not get yourself killed.”

Felix shakes his head. “There are worse fates than dying, Dorian.”

Subira has a flash to a dream where a world is covered in red.

* * *

They travel back to Haven, just in time for a letter to arrive from Redcliffe. It’s a formal invitation from Alexius to the Herald to sit down and speak inside Redcliffe Castle.

“Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name,” Josephine starts, tapping nervously on her clipboard.

“It’s so obviously a _trap,”_ Cullen snaps, pausing from his frantic pacing for just a moment. He sounds weary and tired. It’s clear him, Leliana and Josephine have been arguing since the scout brought the report ahead of them.

“It is,” Subira agrees, and Cullen looks like a hopeful puppy - _guess she’s about to kick a puppy._

“But we have no other options. We _can’t_ waste time here.” His face falls immediately as expected and he returns to his pacing.

Leliana daintily holds her hands in front of her. “A Tevinter Magister controls Redcliffe, invites the Herald to the castle to talk, and _some of us_ want to do nothing.” She looks pointedly at Josephine.

“Not this again...” Josephine pinches the bridge of her nose.

Cullen rolls his eyes, focusing on Subira instead of either of them. “Forget that. Obviously something has to be done - but _nothing can_ be done. Redcliffe Castle is an impenetrable fortress. It’s survived the Fifth Blight and _thousands_ of assaults. If you go in there, and something goes wrong, _we cannot get you out.”_

His tone darkens. “You’ll _die._ And we’ll lose the only means of closing these rifts. _I won’t allow it!”_

Leliana growls, leaning over the table. _“And_ if we don’t even _try_ to meet the magister, we lose these mages to _Tevinter_ \- and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep!”

Josephine intervenes, her own pitch rising imperceptibly. “Even if we _could_ assault the Castle, it would be for naught. An _‘Orlesian’_ Inquisition’s Army marching into Ferelden?” She leaves the question in the air. “It would provoke a _war._ Our hands are tied in every direction. There is no way to get them out.” She runs an agitated hand through her now slightly disheveled hair.

Cassandra’s mouth turns up in a scowl. “The magister-“

Cullen interjects firmly. _“-Has outplayed us.”_

It’s quiet for several moments. Cullen runs a hand down his face. “I don’t like the idea of sending you in there blind, Anita.”

Subira shrugs. “I have to take that risk, Cullen.”

“Wait,” the Spymaster says quietly. “I may know of a way. There’s a passage; an exit for the family. I can get my agents in through there.”

Cullen is quick to snap back, “Your agents will be spotted-“

Leliana turns her gaze to Subira. “That’s why we need a distraction. Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants?”

“It’s risky, but that could work,” Cullen mutters, rubbing his chin.

 _“Fortunately,_ you’ll have me,” a familiar smug voice chimes in, striding through the door. A panting scout comes up behind him.

“He said - he said - he has information - on the magister-“

Cullen dismisses the poor scout. He salutes half heartedly and shuts the doors behind him, trying to catch his breath. Dorian comes up next to Anita and ruffles her hair with a smile, ignoring the obvious bristling by the others in the room.

“I will sneak in with - _who is it, Leliana?_ \- her agents. That way, they won’t suspect a thing. Otherwise, the minute they step in the castle? _Mission failed!”_ He twirls his mustache. “I’ll disable the wards he has up and help dispatch of any guards we come across. Meanwhile, Anita here and her envoy keep Alexius busy. Everyone wins.”

Cullen rubs his chin. “That... could work,” he groans. “I can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go to the Templars if you don’t want to play bait.” He sounds a bit hopeful.

She sighs. “I know this idea isn’t popular. But it’s what we have to do. We don’t have other options.”

_And boy, when this is all over, the Templars were looking mighty good to her._


	18. Troubles Yet to Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redcliffe Castle - Back to the Future, where Subira is thrown forward in time. Her companions are drenched in a world of red lyrium and the smell of death follows her every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I’m pretty far where I want to be in the plot (writing ahead I mean) I’ll drop this little gem. Uh, be warned. Angst. ANGST.

Dressed in a fine overcoat and breeches, sturdy boots and daggers strapped to her waist, she looked the part of visiting dignitary. The only thing helping her keep her cool are the tips Vivienne gave her - and the things she learned by watching Josephine.

Cassandra walks to her right, armor finely polished and shield firmly attached to her back, and Vivienne is to her left, regal and coldly imposing. The exact reason they picked them - to stand out and ward off any unwanted attention directed towards the Herald.

They’d prepared for days, with Vivienne instructing the young Herald. They figured having the imposing mage with them would set an image that they desperately need, especially with their figurehead being so young.

Now they approach the castle. She’s nervous, but she’ll never admit it. She holds her head high and walks heel to toe, just like Vivienne taught her.

“Announce us,” Subira demands upon reaching the awaiting man.

The man who greets them looks nervous, checking the scroll before looking back up. “The invitation was for the Herald.”

Subira clicks her tongue. “If my companions cannot join me, then I shall stay here with them.”

He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat. “Of course, my Lady.”

She pierces him with a cold stare. _“Now,_ announce us.”

He gulps, nodding. “Of course,” and begins leading them to the throne room.

Clearing his throat, he says, “Magister Alexius, presenting to you of the Inquisition, the Herald of Andraste and her companions: Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth, Right Hand of the Divine and Madame Vivienne de Fer, Leader of the Loyalist Mages of Thedas, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Mistress of Chateau Duke Bastien de Ghislain.”

Alexius does not seemed pleased by the companions she brought with her, a contemplative frown on his lips. Nevertheless he paints a fake smile onto his face, lounging on his stolen throne lazily with fires burning high to give the illusion of power. Grand Enchanter Fiona stands demurely by one side, his son Felix on the other. Guards with unfamiliar armor line the pillars.

She does not bow her head to him when she approaches, instead quirking an eyebrow. He scowls and inclines his head, causing the tiniest of smiles to form on her face, and she then returns the favor.

“My friend! It’s _so_ good to see you again!” His words sound wooden, standing to face her. _“... And_ companions, I see.”

Vivienne and Cassandra take up the right and left sides behind her, eyeing anyone in the room. Alexius stands across from her with an uninterested look on his face and Subira takes in every detail she can about him.

She holds her hands behind her back. “So, Gereon,” she starts. “Can I call you that? Anyway, Gereon, we’re at a bit of an impasse, aren’t we?”

His eyebrow twitches at her use of his first name. _“Yes,”_ he says slowly. “I’m sure we can work out an arrangement that is equitable to... _all_ parties.”

“Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” Fiona leaves his side, standing next to Subira to face him.

“Well, Fiona,” he says in a bored tone, “You would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.”

Subira sees the stricken look cross Fiona’s face.

With a sharp grin, she interjects. “Join the discussion on behalf of the Inquisition, Grand Enchanter, I beseech you.”

Alexius looks ready to evaporate her on the spot. She merely turns back to him and raises an eyebrow.

_His play now._

“Thank you, Herald.” Fiona bows minutely and backs up, eyeing the Magister standing above them.

Alexius retreats to his stolen throne. “You already know the Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?”

Subira’s smile drops, stepping forward. “Well, Gereon,” she flicks her hair out of her face. “I’d _much_ rather discuss the Venatori.”

His face is carefully blank. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Felix turns to his father. “She knows everything, Father.”

Alexius’ face falls. “Felix, what have you _done?”_

“Your son is concerned, Magister,” Subira tries to appeal to his love for his son.

“You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark - _a gift you don’t even understand!_ \- and think you’re in _control?”_ Alexius asks dangerously, standing and hovering steps above Subira. “You are nothing but a _mistake!”_

_Street rat._

_Daughter of a whore._

_Mistake._

“Then tell me, Gereon Alexius,” she spits venomously, “What is so special about this _awful_ thing?”

“It was the Elder One’s moment!” He cries. “And you were unworthy to even stand in his _presence.”_

“Father, listen to yourself,” Felix pleads. “Do you know what you _sound_ like?”

Dorian approaches from the shadows, shaking his head. “He sounds _exactly_ like the villainous cliche everyone expects us to be.”

“Hello, Dorian.” Subira greets with a small smile.

He smiles at her before returning his attention to the magister, coming to stand in front of Vivienne.

“Dorian,” Alexius shakes his head. “I gave you a chance to be apart of this. You turned me down!” he gesticulates wildly, “The Elder One has power you would not _believe._ He will raise the Imperium from the ashes!”

“Who is the Elder One?” Subira asks with a grimace. “Was it _he_ who killed the Divine? A mage?”

_Is there an insane fanatic with a cult of Tevinter followers running loose through Thedas?_

Alexius growls. “Soon, he will become a _god!”_

Subira’s blood gets colder with every word he speaks.

“He will make the world _bow_ to mages once more. We will rule from the Boric Oceans to the Frozen Seas!”

Fiona speaks up, fear in her eyes. “You _can’t_ involve my people in this!”

Dorian steps forward, arms spread wide. “Alexius, this is _exactly_ what we talked about never wanting to happen. Why would you support this?”

From her peripheral, Subira can see Venatori guards dropping.

Felix steps forward to plead his case again, placing a hand on his father's shoulder. “Please Father, give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let's go home.”

Alexius turns to his son, eyes wild. “No, it’s the only way, Felix. He can save you!”

Felix furrows his brow. _“Save_ me?”

Alexius pleads his case desperately with his son. “There _is_ a way! The Elder One promised. If I make up for the mistake at the temple...”

Felix interrupts harshly. “I’m going to _die,_ Father. You need to accept that.”

Alexius moves on as if he hasn’t heard him. _“Seize them,_ Venatori. The Elder One demands the halflings life!”

The last Venatori drop to the ground with sickening gurgles, their throats cut or necks broken by Inquisition Agents.

“Your men are _dead,_ Alexius,” Subira says. “Give up.”

“You...” he falters. “Are a _mistake!_ You never should have _existed!”_

“My mother would agree!” Subira hisses back. To her satisfaction, his eyebrows raise in surprise just the tiniest bit.

And then he pulls out the amulet, crackling with green power and already tearing at the veil. Her hand sizzles and she falters.

 _“No!”_ Dorian hits the floating amulet with magic, but it’s too late. Subira is sucked backwards into the swirling green and black, her screams echoing for seconds after it disappears.

* * *

She splashes into disgusting, murky water on her hands and knees, grimacing when it hits her face and mouth.

_This... is... Redcliffe._

Dorian is next to her, sopping wet but only from the knees down because of his height. He turns, placing his hands on her shoulders. It’s then she realizes she can’t hear, watching his mouth move and hearing no sound.

“Dorian?” She can feel that her voice is small. “I can’t hear you.”

He nods reassuringly, mouths something that looks like _“it’s okay.”_ And feels the anxiety in her chest lessen, even if everything is red and wet down here and the mark feels like it’s on fire.

_Speaking of the mark..._

She stops paying attention to Dorian, who is fretting over whether or not she’s okay, and pulls off her soggy glove. She bites back a gasp.

The mark is deeper, her skin barely visible. It wraps nearly all around her wrist and up to her mid forearm. She looks up at Dorian with panicked eyes.

He puts both hands on her shoulders and tries to encourage her to breathe deeply with him. Slowly, she calms down. She realizes that her hearing has returned.

“I can hear again,” she says quietly. He hums. “Dorian, where are we?”

“Well,” he backs up, looking around. “I think it’s _when,_ not _where.”_

She stares at him blankly.

“This is Redcliffe Castle, but not _when_ we were here. Therefore, I believe we were displaced in time.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, _right,”_ she laughs and runs a hand through her hair. “That’s fine! _That’s just fine!”_

“We need to start moving,” he says gently. She nods, pulling the glove back on and walking forward. Not two steps later do two guards appear.

 _“Blood of the Elder One!_ Where did they come from?!”

The two guards who stumbled upon them rush into action, each taking one of them. She slides slightly in her dodge, but quickly gets the hang of it and positions herself behind the guard she rushed, yanking his head back by his helmet and dragging her dagger across his throat. He lets out a wet gurgle before she drops him into the murky water and she looks to see how Dorian is doing.

His guard is dead, slightly smoking and he returns his staff to his back. He gestures wide. “Shall we?”

* * *

Subira chokes at the sight of Grand Enchanter Fiona up on the wall, red lyrium protruding from her. There are dark circles under her eyes and her face is gaunt.

 _“Subira,”_ Fiona says with relief. Dorian raises his eyebrows. “You’re alive.”

“Grand Enchanter,” she breathes. “What... what _happened?”_

Fiona grimaces and goes through the harrowing task of explaining exactly what happened - and including that it’s been an entire year. Subira’s panic raises with every word she speaks.

“Dorian, we have to get back, we have to, _we have to-“_ she buries her head in his robes and he hesitantly ran his hand over her head, quietly speaking with Fiona and then gently ushering her along.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers back to Fiona as they walk away. Dorian nudges her forward.

Further in the dungeons reveal Cassandra kneeling before her. The Chant of Light falls from her lips and her hands are weakly clasped in front of her, shaking with the effort. Subira takes the pommel of her dagger and frantically shatters the rusty lock, sliding to her knees in front of Cassandra.

“C-Cassandra?” She hates the way her voice breaks but all she can see is the red haze of lyrium in the Seeker’s eyes and the gaunt protruding of bone and the way her voice is two-toned.

The other woman’s head shot up. “Is it really you? Has Andraste given us another chance?” A dirty hand comes up to stroke her curls and Subira leans into it. _“I am sorry._ I failed you.”

Subira bursts into tears. _“No!”_ She sobs. “I failed you, I failed all of you! He’s right, I’m just a _mistake._ None of this should’ve happened. I’m _so_ sorry.”

Cassandra gently brings the girl into her embrace. Subira has never allowed hugs but she hugs her back as tightly as she dares, shuddering and heaving.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Do not be, Anita,” Subira winces. “We will fix this, yes? Come, Vivienne is here somewhere. There is much you need to know.”

Stopping in the room over to retrieve her weapons ( _how uncreative, they didn’t repurpose them or anything - just moved them a room over?_ ) and armor, Cassandra adopts a grim look.

“After you... died,” she hesitates on the unpleasant words, and then shakes them away, “The Elder One stormed down. He killed Empress Celene, and there was a demon army. No one could stand up against him and win.”

Subira’s heart breaks for everything they’ve gone through.

Vivienne sits in the corner of her cell, prim and proper as ever despite her circumstances, but still not right. Her hair is grown out to her ears and it’s greasy and matted, her eyes have the same red tint that Cassandra’s have.

“Begone, demon,” Vivienne sneers. “I will not be tricked with _foolishness.”_

Subira breaks the lock and kneels in front of Vivienne. Even though they had not known each other long, she wished things were different. The guilt she feels is heavy on her shoulders.

“I’m not a demon, Madame,” she says quietly. “I’m just a girl trying her best. And I’m so, _so_ sorry,” her voice cracks.

Vivienne eyes the breaking girl in front of her. “Well,” she stands up and dusts herself off, offering a hand to the child. “If this is the way I shall go, I see no more fitting a way bestowed from the Maker.”

Subira looks up with unshed tears in her eyes. “Do not cry, my dear,” Vivienne gently coos. “This will be nothing but a dream to you, when Altus Pavus fixes this.”

Tears slip down her cheeks. “I don’t want it to just be a dream to me,” her voice cracks and she swallows thickly. “You’ve all suffered an entire year for me. _It’s all my fault.”_

Vivienne shushes her, gently rubbing the tears out from under her eyes with her thumb. “It is no one but that _wretched_ Elder One’s fault. Now, let’s go get you back.”

Subira sniffles and nods, turning back the way they came. She picks up a key on their way, thinking it’ll be useful.

_“Tell me how the halfling knew of the Elder One’s plans!”_

_“Never!”_

A grunt follows and Subira takes off at a run, ignoring the startled calls of her companions behind her. She doesn’t notice magic flaring up and bursting out of her in sparks of green light and before she realizes it she’s shattered the door off of its hinges.

Leliana hisses something at the man, snapping his neck with her legs. When Cassandra arrives she’ll have to get Leliana down. _Or..._

With a jerk of her hand, the chains cut from the ceiling and Subira rushes to catch Leliana, stumbling under the force of her weight.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, jamming the key she found earlier into the locks. The former spymaster rubs her wrists and looks down at the distraught teenager.

Subira, for the most part does not react at what’s been done to Leliana. Her face crumples and she buries her head in her hands. Cassandra walks up behind her and gently takes her into her arms, running a thin hand through her hair. Leliana sighs and grabs a bow from the corner.

“Don’t you want to know how we got here?” Dorian asks, confused.

“No.” Leliana doesn’t even look at him.

“Well, we never actually died-“

“You’re just talking to fill the silence!” She hisses. “To you, this will be a dream. But this year was real - _to all of us._ Real people got hurt!”

Subira hugs Cassandra tighter, her tears starting fresh while the Seeker sends Leliana a harsh look and receives a blank one in return.

“We should go find Alexius, Anita.” Cassandra says in her two-toned voice. Subira nods against her front, sniffling and pulling away but grabbing onto the woman’s hand.

None of them - except Dorian, who has been here a few precious weeks - have known the teenager to be clingy and attached. Cassandra worries for what will happen when she returns to the time when they are alive.

_If she can._

When they enter the courtyard and into the air, Subira falls to her knees with a gasp. Cassandra immediately grasps her shoulder and she’s, for once, thankful for the support.

“The Breach,” she wheezes, standing on shaky legs. “It’s _everywhere.”_

The veil is nowhere to be found, the Fade thick and all around her. The waking world and the land of dreams have come together to form some horrible purgatory where nothing makes sense anymore and it feels like the air in her lungs is being ripped out with every breath.

A pulse of pain takes her breath away and she rips her sleeve up with no regard for those in her company. Green tendrils crawl slowly up her arm and around her elbow, pain pulsating through her very being.

“Anita!” Cassandra gasps. “Your arm...”

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” She frantically assures her, nerves frazzled and bent out of shape. She pulls her sleeve back down. “When we get back it’ll go back to normal. Everything will be _fine!”_

Cassandra gives her a look that says she doesn’t quite believe her before they continue on. Subira is brought to her knees moments later, barely able to warn them that there is a rift ahead.

“I’ll be along in a second,” she hisses, clenching her sizzling hand. “Just... _go!”_

Reluctantly, Cassandra leaves her side to join the fight. Subira makes her way to her feet and arrives just in time to kill a demon creeping up on Leliana. She doesn’t wait for a response, instead deciding to close the rift and be done with it.

She braces herself and lifts her hand. The mark is reluctant, almost as if it knows that this is not right. Subira prods at it, forcing it to take the rift in and tears prick her eyes when it finally closes, sniffling when it’s done.

“Let’s move.”

Everything passes in a blur. She barely remembers splitting up to collect the shards and moving from room to room. The occasional dry banter between her companions seems like background noise that she’s hearing through cotton stuffed into her ears.

All she remembers is red lyrium jutting out from the walls, the floor, the bodies, from Grand Enchanter Fiona. All she hears is Vivienne two-toned voice and Cassandra’s prayers murmured under her breath and Leliana’s dark eyes.

The blood she spills onto the floor stains her hands and she breathes in the veil, a netted webbing meant to catch reality but what is reality? Nothing makes sense. All she knows is that she wants them to pay.

She doesn’t care about her magic anymore, and no one has asked: she’s imbuing her blades with green lightning every time she strikes, savage and feral and angry and desperate. All she wants is to stop seeing so much red and the blood she’s spilling will never come out of her skin-

“Anita?”

Her head snaps up. They’re at the door now and the last piece is ready to go in. “Well?”

Cassandra nods and places it in. The door doesn’t open dramatically much like Subira expected, so she shrugs and kicks it open.

 _“Alexius!”_ She bellows and she swears the force shakes her vocal chords. “You have a lot to answer for.”

“I knew you’d come back,” he says hollowly.

His voice stops her in her tracks. _No, this isn’t right! He’s supposed to be... angry! Vengeful! Not defeated, not..._

“The Elder One knew I hadn’t gotten rid of you that day,” he continues. “and I knew you would come back eventually. Nothing would fix the mistake this time.”

Subira growls. “You... was it worth it, Alexius?! _Look at what you’ve done!”_

He turns to face them. His eyes are sunken in with lack of sleep and he seems thinner like everyone else in this twisted nightmare.

“It was for my son...” he looks at a figure kneeling by the fireplace. “But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Subira notices that Leliana is gone seconds too late. The woman hauls what was once Felix up by his collar and holds a dagger to his throat.

He doesn’t react.

“Felix!” Alexius cries out.

 _“That’s_ Felix?” Dorian breathes. “Makers breath, Alexius, what have you _done?!”_

“I _saved_ him!” The man replies indignantly. “Please, don’t hurt him. I’ll do _anything.”_

Leliana stares at the magister. “You know what I want? I want the world back.”

Black blood stains the tiles and Leliana is blown back into the wall. Subira cries out in alarm, only narrowly dodging a blow meant for her. She looks up into Alexius’ eyes.

_Desperation. Anger. Hopelessness._

There are just barely threads left of the separation of fade and waking world, and she forces herself through them, barreling towards Alexius. There is an apology on her lips when she twists her dagger in his gut.

He slumps to the ground with the faintest of smiles on his face.

Dorian looks dismayed. “All of this for Felix... He died a long time ago, didn’t he?”

No one answers. Subira looks down at her hands, stained _redandredandred-_

 _“-hour?_ No, that’s not possible! You _must_ go now!” Leliana exclaims, readying her bow.

“Quite right, my dears. You must go now if you’re to make it back,” Vivienne agrees, magic crackling at her fingertips.

“We’ll stall as long as we can.” Cassandra promises.

“What? _No!”_ Subira cries. “I can’t let you do this. It’s suicide!”

“Can’t you see?” Leliana smiles mirthlessly. “We are _already_ dead. The only thing that matters now is that you get back, and that none of this happens.”

Her eyes fill with tears but she nods, looking at the ground so she might not have to watch them walk themselves to their graves. Cassandra brings her into a tight embrace that she returns.

“Be strong,” she murmurs - and then she’s gone. Vivienne squeezes her hand once before following and the doors shut with a finalizing slam.

Her heart squeezes and everything feels like too much, too fast. Leliana points her bow towards the door.

“You have as much time as I have arrows.”

The spell starts up behind her, Dorian concentrating on getting them back while the sky outside darkens and rumbling is heard in the distance. She anxiously shifts, looking back at Dorian.

Suddenly the door is thrown open and a rage demon throws Cassandra’s head down, another tosses Vivienne aside like a rag doll. Without thinking she moves forward and Dorian clamps a hand down on her arm.

“I have to help them-“ she sobs. He pulls her into his robes, shielding her from having to watch.

“If you go, you’ll die! We have to get back.”

She nods and buries her head into his robe so as not to see the lifeless eyes of those who would give their lives for her. Leliana shoots arrow after arrow, strength radiating from her as she murmurs the Chant.

The last thing she sees is Leliana’s peaceful expression before being sucked back to their time.

* * *

They land in the same positions they started in. Subira looks at Alexius and his surprised face and all she sees is _red-_

“Anita! _No!”_ Dorian pulls her back, nearly losing his hold on her while she struggles.

“He has to _pay,_ Dorian! _He has to pay!”_ Tears stream down her face and her vision is blurred now, feet slipping on the carpet in her futile attempts to escape him.

She stops resisting and slides to her knees. Dorian gently brings her to her feet and she pushes away, striding towards Alexius. There is real fear in his eyes when he takes a step back.

 _“You,”_ she hisses, eyes crackling with deep emerald sparks. _“You_ are coming with the Inquisition to await trial. Do _not_ expect mercy.”

Felix doesn’t attempt to argue, quietly accepting his father's fate. “I will return to Tevinter.”

“See to it that you do.” She spits.

Turning, she falters when she sees the concerned face of Cassandra and the more indifferent one of Vivienne. _All she can remember is lifeless eyes and gaunt cheeks and two-tones-_

Dorian nudges her gently and she shakes her head to clear it, blinking multiple times at the addition of the King of Ferelden and his wife, Queen Anora.

“King Alistair,” She bows as best as possible, though she’s sure its stiff. “To what do we owe the pleasure, all the way from Denerim?”

“The rebel mages cannot be allowed to stay here any longer.” Queen Anora answers instead.

Subira sours. _“If you will,_ I _asked_ His Majesty.”

Everyone in attendance is shocked by her audacity and Queen Anora looks ready to tear her apart for it, but is stilled by a hand on her shoulder. The King shakes his head, observing the shaken girl.

“Well, Herald,” he says firmly, “The rebel mages cannot be allowed to stay in Redcliffe Castle any longer, as I’m sure you understand.”

She _laughs,_ to their surprise. The hollow noise sounds like it’s choking on a sob. _“Yes,_ I understand quite well. If only I were afforded such a luxury. The rebel mages,” she looks at Fiona and immediately regrets it, slamming her eyes shut to force away images of a red-lyrium consumed woman. _“May_ come with the Inquisition.”

“To what status?” Fiona asks warily.

“That will be discussed at a later time, as I’m... _far_ too tired to be making such a decision. I’m sure the Council will want to review this. _Most likely,_ Grand Enchanter,” she fixes her eyes on a painting. “It will be as allies. Do you accept the offer?”

“I would,” King Alistair interjects. “It’s more than you will get from us.”

Fiona, stuck between a rock and a hard place, sighs. “The rebel mages accept.”

“Good, good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need...” She walks away without further word, pushing past both Cassandra and Vivienne without stopping to look at them.

 _“Pavus!”_ Cassandra storms up to Dorian, grabbing his collar. “What _happened?!"_

He pushes her back, but not off. “This is nice fabric, Seeker!” He looks back and forth. “This is a conversation best saved for Haven.”

She lets him go fully, looking lost. “Will... will she be okay?”

Dorian looks down. “I don’t know, Seeker,” he answers truthfully. “I really don’t know.”


	19. They Call Me After Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beginning of the Aftermath of Redcliffe. Cassandra struggles through those maternal feels and cleans Subira up after her ordeal. Dorian is the best Uncle... Dad... Figure. Thing. Best one to wake up to after a nightmare, right?

Anita does not speak the entire night. She does not eat when the scouts announce there is dinner, nor does she wash herself from the blood and grime covering her body. She sits, staring into the fire, until there are too many people and she retreats into their tent without a word.

Cassandra watches the normally expressive girl stoically react to her surroundings. After she finished eating she finds herself at a crossroads - _until_ Vivienne pushes another bowl of food into her hands and looked in the direction of the tent.

She nods, but the woman is gone anyway. Taking a deep breath, she approaches the tent slowly and clears her throat.

“Anita, I am not sure what happened out there today...” she hesitates. “And I am not so good with words. But I have some food for you. May I come in?”

There is no response.

She sighs. “Anita, please answer me.”

After several moments of complete silence, she fidgets. Placing the bowl in someone’s hands - she doesn’t look at whose - and approaching the tent, she opens the flaps and gasps.

Anita is _gone._

Swearing loudly, she turns. “You there!” Pointing at a scout, “Hand me your torch!”

“Yes, Seeker!”

She runs around to the back of the tent, inspecting carefully. The tracks are covered carefully, but the dirt is disturbed just barely. Sighing, she goes off in the direction of the tracks. They get messier as she goes, uncovered and frantic looking.

“Anita?” She calls, far into the forest. “Anita, please. Come out, it’s cold out here.”

“Go away!” A cracked voice calls from nowhere. Cassandra cannot pinpoint it. “I can’t - I _can’t_ see anyone right now!”

The Seeker sighs. “Anita, you must know I’m not leaving without you.”

Choked sobs are heard. “Just... _go away!”_

“Anita, please!” Her own voice is tired. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

Suddenly, a figure drops in front of her. Cassandra startles backwards before she realizes it’s Anita, eyes red rimmed and filled with tears, her cheeks puffy and stained and lips swollen.

“You sacrificed yourself for me!” She half-screams, half chokes. Her tears and sobs are overlapping.

“I - _what?”_

Anita sniffles and turns away. In the light, Cassandra can see the black of demon blood, specks of human blood and rips in her clothes from the ordeal that was Redcliffe Castle.

“You _sacrificed yourself_ for me, in the future,” her voice breaks, “And I had to _watch._ I had to watch a world filled with red be sacrificed _in my name,_ all because I _disappeared.”_

The mark flares up when she turns, her eyes brighter than Cassandra has ever seen.

“For some... for some _deadbeat kid,_ Cassandra! You didn’t deserve to die that way! You spent a year in a cage like... _like an animal! It wasn’t right!”_

Anita turns and slams her fist into a tree, smearing blood onto the bark. She’s breathing heavily, almost heaving.

Cassandra wasn’t prepared for this. “I...”

“And Leliana _hated_ me,” she sobs. “Vivienne was thrown aside like a _rag doll._ The world was _red_ and my hands were stained with _red_ and everything was _red-“_

She puts her hands into her hair and sinks to her knees.

 _“I don’t want this,”_ she cries. “I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this...”

Cassandra kneels next to her, knowing that no singular comfort she can offer right now will help. Instead, she will offer her presence and hope that is enough.

Eventually the girl’s crying subsides to hiccups and sniffles. She doesn’t respond when Cassandra tries to get her attention, and so the Seeker ends up carrying her bridal-style back to their tent. Laying Anita down in her bedroll, the older woman sighs.

She exits the tent in search of a bowl and a source of water - thankfully, a Scout has some specially for washing up that they collected earlier in the week, and she fills the bowl before grabbing a cloth from her things.

Placing the bowl and cloth aside, she frowns at Anita’s form. The girl clearly disliked people seeing her, but she cannot stay in those awful clothes overnight, it would only serve to make her feel worse. Cassandra makes a promise to herself - and Anita - that for the girl’s sake she will do it as fast as possible and will not look at her unless she has to. She also leaves her binding on, thinking Anita would approve.

The torn shirt isn’t worth keeping, so she gently tugs it off of her limp limbs and sighs at the scratches and bruises on her arms. Leaning back, she dips the cloth into the water and then wrings it out.

Gently, she runs the damp cloth over Anita’s face and neck, making sure to get all the blood and dirt before moving to her shoulders and arms. Then she pulls one of her own nightshirts over the girl’s head. Normally she would’ve simply bathed her torso as well, but out of respect for the girl’s privacy regarding her body, she has no problem leaving it.

She debates on whether or not to take her breeches off, only because she knows she’ll be uncomfortable and tomorrow is sure to be difficult as it is.

Sighing, she can only hope that the girl won’t plan her murder for removing them and gently gets to work - tugging a warm pair of soft, loose fitting pants on her instead. With a soft smile, she tucks the blanket around her shoulders and moves her own bedroll closer, laying down but not going to sleep. She suspects it will be a long night.

* * *

_Distant thunder rumbles and shakes the ground. The feeling of impending doom fills her and yet she cannot will her limbs to move, cannot make anything happen to change what is going on around her._

_Castelleta is slaughtered before her and she watches as her body decomposes and red lyrium grows over it. Herah has her not-fully grown horns cut off slowly, and starves to death in a cell with Michalis. Their bodies join the red lyrium that crawls up the walls like Castelleta’s._

_Her throat is thick with screams that won’t release themselves and it feels like she’s drowning. The entire world is water and yet it’s an ocean of red; red like the blood that was spilled, red like the lyrium, like the glow of her companions eyes or the haunting ambiance of the castle._

_She is drowning in red and cannot breathe - when she takes a breath her lungs burn and she exhales dust, as if she’s lived a thousand years and her lungs are petrified. She watches, one by one, as those she’s come to know are tortured or killed in front of her. A daunting laugh accompanies the rolling thunder now, sounding closer._

_An image of Alexius appears in front of her, contorted and warbled._

_“The Elder One demands her life!”_

_The water seizes her in a tighter hold, as if she could go anywhere, like she isn’t already trapped._

_Alexius looks at her with a cold stare and evil grin. Suddenly, she has the feeling that this is not a memory of Alexius any longer._

_A deep, echoing voice rumbles from the visage of the magister. **“The Elder One sends his regards.”** _

_The last thing she remembers from the dream is red water filling her eyes, nose, mouth, lungs - anywhere it could, screaming until she couldn’t anymore._

* * *

When she wakes up, she fights immediately. There’s a weight over her and she doesn’t stop to think, her heart is pounding and she feels like she’s underwater still and she’s afraid if she opens her eyes that she’ll see a world covered in red-

“Anita!” Dorian’s voice, gentle and soothing, snaps her out of it. She pries her eyes open and Cassandra is the one who restrains her, looking for all the world a concerned friend. As soon as she knows she isn’t a danger to herself or them, the Seeker releases her.

“It is alright, Anita,” Dorian soothes. “It wasn’t real.”

“But it _was,”_ she gasps, trembling. She tries to remember, grasping at the threads of her dream. “He - sent a _message-“_

 _“He?”_ Cassandra asks, deadly serious.

Dorian pays her no mind, taking Anita’s shoulders gently. “You must tell me everything you remember from the dream, Anita. This is very important.”

She closes her eyes and forces herself to remember a world of drowning red and barely realizes it when there are tears running down her face.

“The Elder One,” she croaks, eyes snapping open. “He sent - his _regards.”_

Dorian pales. “You’re sure?”

She nods shakily. “I - I am.”

The Seeker looks impatient but also understanding at the same time - an odd combination. Dorian nods before squeezing the girl’s shoulders gently.

“I will draw sigils of protection for your dreams,” he says softly. “And after that we will have to find something stronger - runes, perhaps?”

His eyes are tired and drooping and she feels horrible for waking him up. “I’m sorry,” she says hoarsely.

He smiles. “It’s no trouble, little magister,” he jokes, causing Cassandra to glare. “I know waking up to seeing my face would make _anyone_ feel better.”

Anita laughs, coughing when it catches. “That is very true, you’re a _dashing_ mage after all,” her eyes are dropping again - _already?_ \- and her heartbeat is slowing, completely forgetting the other woman in the tent as her focus dwindles.

“Dorian,” she half-whispers. “You have to _promise..._ to protect Cassandra,” she says conspiratorially.

He laughs gently. “I do not think she _needs_ my protection, little one,” he runs a hand through her hair.

“I know,” she says vaguely. “But he’ll hurt her again... you _saw...”_

Dorian’s look becomes grim. “I understand, little one,” he pets her hair gently. “I will not allow any harm to come to her. I promise.”

The girl nods and mumbled something incoherent before slipping off to sleep again. Dorian smiles to himself - _magic really is a gift sometimes, making troubled teenagers sleep is a perk_ \- and goes to leave.

“Pavus,” the Seeker starts. “I - _uhm...”_

Dorian raises an eyebrow.

“Stay here with her,” she suggests. “She’ll throw a fit if she wakes and you are gone.”

He considers it, and then nods. “I will go retrieve a blanket, and return.”

When he comes back, Cassandra is sitting up and staring at the curled up figure of Anita.

He lays down next to her, close enough for her to reach but not close enough to smother her, and gets as comfortable as possible.

_Finally, sleep..._

“Pavus,” the Seeker says suddenly, breaking the quiet.

He sighs. _“Yes,_ Seeker?”

“What did she mean?”

He closes his eyes. He really is not getting enough out of this for him to willingly answer her questions this late at night. _The Maker better see him being a good person right now, because otherwise they are going to have some_ words.

“There were many horrors in the future we saw, Seeker,” he says vaguely. “Let us leave it at that unless she decides to share. I believe this is a story she will only tell _once.”_

The Seeker grunts her response, book open on her lap but clearly not reading. He sighs again, looking at the agitated woman.

“You clearly have questions. _Or_ concerns,” he suggests.

She nearly snaps at him, but realizes that risks waking up Anita - _and_ that he does not deserve it.

“I simply dislike problems that I cannot hit with my fists or stick my sword into,” she admits and nods at Anita. “She is... an _entirely_ new concept to me. It is hard.”

Dorian laughs softly. “That is true. It is difficult, the path that is set before her,” he looks at the child resting uneasily next to him. “But there is no turning from it. All we can do is weather the storm with her.”

And he means that - as he has no intention of leaving now, not when this angry, heartbroken teenager has wrapped him around her finger. Much like the other allies she’s accumulated, he muses. _'Come for the end of the world, stay for the child you become attached to.'_ _Interesting angle,_ but he wonders if the Inquisition could make it work

The woman nods slowly, chewing over his words.

 _“Goodnight,_ Seeker.”

“Goodnight, Pavus.”


	20. I Should Stay Strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They return to Haven for a debrief, Subira acts like a feral animal, and Cassandra wonders how to reach out better to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is only kind of short because it just happened to be in the middle of some other Important Scenes that couldn't be separated. Sorry - When I post this (hello future me and future readers!!) I'll upload it with another chapter so you're not getting no substance! Also, I know I added a mission in that only appears if you go to the Templars (its only a mention) but I needed it there to facilitate the conversation about political stuff.

Anita does not speak for days following what Varric has dubbed _‘the Redcliffe Incident’._ When the healers try to examine her upon returning to Haven, she backs up and places a hand where her daggers would be - they had to remove them early on, as her violent dreams became increasingly obvious - before snarling.

Adan blinks and sighs. “Lass, ya ain’t gonna get better if you don’t let us look."

“I have no injuries,” she said hoarsely, her throat sore from disuse.

Adan laughs. “You a healer now, little lady?”

“When I have to be,” she snaps, turning on her heel and walking away faster than Cassandra can keep her.

She struggles to keep up, but finds her talking quietly with Solas and decides to turn and stay just out of hearing distance to give her privacy.

Anita returns what feels like at least half a candlemark later, but could not have been nearly that long.

“All checked out,” she grunts, crossing her arms.

Cassandra raises a brow. “Is that so?”

Anita nods, seemingly done talking. She sighs - she’ll just have to trust Solas knows what he is talking about.

“It’s a good thing you did,” Cassandra comments.

Anita hums.

“Allowing Hasmal’s mages to come to Haven, I mean.”

“They need protection,” She rasps. “I would not offer it to their _Templars.”_

Cassandra frowns. “They were the ones who reached out in the first place, correct?”

Anita laughs dryly. “The Templar handlers, being _praised_ for doing their job! Oh, what a glorious day,” she jibes. _“Yes,_ they were. But to what end? These mages have never had a _choice_ otherwise - they trust these Templars to take care of them like defenseless children and the Templars see them as _pets_ who need their protection.”

Cassandra supposes she never saw it that way, that they were doing their job and if a Templar truly wanted to ensure the protection of a mage, then fantastic. Perhaps...

“I can see... _where_ you’re coming from,” she says after a pause.

The girl’s eyebrows raise. “Huh?”

Cassandra smirks. “Is it so odd that I would agree with you?”

Anita scoffs. “You are a basically a super-Templar whose order fucked up so badly that the Kirkwall Chantry _blew up.”_

 _Ouch,_ Cassandra bites back the instinctive reaction to chew the girl out for her comment. Anita has been scathing with her remarks as of late. She’s _especially_ sure that Varric has been feeding _that_ particular fire when they visit in the Singing Maiden.

 _“That_ is true,” she says. “We did not do our job - and were not following the ideals that the order was founded upon. That is why I left the Order, after all.”

Anita hums. “You worked for the Divine anyway, right? You technically weren’t even a Seeker anymore.”

The older woman plays with this thought. _She supposes, in a sense, that she was not a Seeker anymore. Yes, she was sent to investigate Kirkwall, but that was on Divine Justinia’s orders, not the Seeker’s._

“Not _exactly,_ but something like that,” she concedes.

The girl nods, walking away. “Leliana wanted to speak with me. I’ll see you later, Cass.”

Her brow furrows. _“Cass?”_

The girl turns, the start of her first real smile in days spreading. “Yeah, _Cass.”_

She does not have the heart to tell her _no, she can’t call her Cass._ So she sighs and bucks up, because if she cannot handle a teenager giving her a nickname then she _really_ can’t handle the end of the world.


	21. There’ll be Nothing of Me Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine and Subira get some gentle bonding time, because I thought they deserved it. Leliana is reminded that being one of multiple single adoptive moms of an emotionally volatile teenager is a lot more difficult in practice than in theory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys I don’t know when I’ll update next because I was making pie crust and cut my finger on a food processor so uh. gimme a few weeks to get better please. Currently writing this note from the hospital and it is amazing that I haven’t lost my mind

Subira makes her way hesitantly to Leliana’s tent. She has been avoiding her since Redcliffe - something she _knows_ has not gone unnoticed by the other woman. But it’s easy to pretend - while the mages come in small groups and transfer to Haven, there’s lots to do. Once they’re all at Haven they’ll need several weeks to study the Breach and prepare to close it. She sighs.

At least most of the work left in the Hinterlands can be done through correspondence. There are few rifts she must return to close - and from there they are going straight to the Storm Coast, as Leliana said there were a few things to do there.

 _“Uh,_ hello?”

She looks up at a very handsome man. “Oh, hi. Do you need something?”

He clears his throat. “I’m Cremissius Aclassi. I’ve tried to get someone here to take my message, but it’s been hard.”

She smiles. “Well then, I’m just the person to do it. What do you need?”

He smiles down at the at-ease teenager. “I work for a mercenary company called the Chargers. We want to lend our help to the Inquisition. My boss, the Iron Bull, is set up with our company on the Storm Coast helping clear the dark spawn that have been rising.”

She nods seriously. “That’s a very kind task to undertake.”

He shrugs. “You know, the end of the world and all that.”

She laughs. “I _definitely_ do know. I’ll make sure we come see what you can do - we have some stops in the Hinterlands to make, but we’re going to the Storm Coast right after that anyway.”

“Perfect,” he smiles. “I’ll be on my way. Thank you for your time, Lady...?”

“Oh please, I’m no Lady,” she waves him off. “But I am Anita. It was a pleasure speaking with you.”

She sends him on his way and finally stares at Leliana’s tent. There’s no reason she can’t just go to Josephine’s office instead and write the woman a note about whatever she needs. _Maybe..._

Her feet make up her mind for her, walking through the Chantry and knocking on Josephine’s door. She hears a faint _“come in!”_

 _“Hi,”_ she mumbled, looking at her feet. Josephine looked up quickly, assessing the teenager before finishing the sentence she was writing.

“Hello, Anita,” she replies. “Is there something you need?”

“No,” she mutters, walking forward and sitting in the chair next to her desk. “Just wanted to come see you.”

Josephine smiles, subtly pushing the bowl of candy towards her sometimes-helper, but as of late Anita has not been eating them. It’s concerned the Antivan woman - the normally brave and abrasive teenager has made herself as small as possible.

“Well,” she says after a few moments of writing. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Subira looks away. “No.”

Josephine smiles. “I think that is not true, Anita. I _also_ know that you’ve been avoiding Sister Leliana.”

The girl fidgets with her hands. “I can’t look at her.”

Josephine’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Not after _Redcliffe.”_

She nods, gaining an understanding. It makes more sense when you take that into consideration - though in the formal report the girl had been as vague as possible without jeopardizing their future, it was evident the future she saw was _not_ bright and sunny.

“I see,” she says quietly. “Are you going to go see her?”

Subira looks like a hart caught by hunters and Josephine laughs softly. “Her and I talk frequently, _pequeño cuchilla.”_

Subira slumps in her seat. “I don’t want to,” she mumbled. “Even though I know _she_ wants me to. What does she even need to talk to me about?”

Josephine knows, but if she tells her she won’t go at all. “I am not sure, she was rather tight-lipped about it.”

“I think that, if things go as badly as you think they will - though, I am sure they will not - I might have a plate of cookies and tea waiting for you when you’re done.”

Subira perks up. _“Really?”_

Josephine smiles and nods.

“Okay,” the girl mutters. “I’ll go. But I _don’t_ have to like it!”

The diplomat laughs. “That is often said about many things we have to do in life.”

Subira leaves after that, trudging her way to from the Chantry to Leliana’s tent. She’ll just... listen in, first, to see if she’s busy. _That way she can leave if she is._

She quietly walks around, pressing herself up against a post of her tent where the thick leather covers the outside.

_“-Butler? I knew it. Did he really think we wouldn’t find out?”_

Subira frowns. _What could this be about?_

The older woman sighs, obviously distressed. “Deal with him.”

Subira, as quietly as possible, removes herself from her place of listening and approaches from the front, stopping a good distance away.

Leliana looks up, and for a moment she seems stricken, muttering to herself in Orlesian. “... on second thought, Agent,” she calls to the Agent walking away. “Apprehend him. See that he lives.”

The scout salutes and continues on their way. Leliana rubs a hand over her face.

“Why did you let him live?” Subira asks.

Leliana looks at the teenager faced with saving the world. “... I realized it was advantageous to allow him his life.”

The girl nods, mind too full to question. “So... what did you need?”

Leliana turns, rifling until she finds her reports from Redcliffe. “In your reports from Redcliffe,” she can practically feel the girl stiffen behind her. “I am not sure on some details.”

“You _don’t_ want to know.”

Leliana raises a brow, turning. “Oh?”

Subira scowls and looks away, crossing her arms. "I told you _all_ you needed to know. Trust me, I didn’t jeopardize _this_ future.”

Leliana shakes her head. “Even the _smallest_ details could be important, Anita. You leaving them out is-“

“I can assure you, you _don’t_ want to know!”

Leliana blinks. Once, twice. Then opens her mouth to speak, but Subira has gained confidence.

“You _really_ want to know what happened?” She sneers. “You sacrificed yourself for me. _You, Cassandra, Vivienne_ \- I watched you all _die_ before being sucked back to a time where you’re very much alive!

“I watched a world bleeding red be _destroyed_ because I was not there to save it, you - you were _tortured!_ You cannot even imagine the things I saw and you want the _details?”_

Leliana opens her mouth to speak and closes it, unsure of how to respond to the very emotional teenager. She’s practically _vibrating_ with energy.

“Well,” she starts, not sure how this will be received. “I always liked a gamble.”

The girl explodes. “Are you _serious?!_ That wasn’t a gamble - it was an outright _suicide!_ You _hated_ me, would not even _look_ at me, and the only peace I saw on your face was when you were _dead!_

“Fuck you _and_ your gambles! I don’t need anyone dying for me!” Subira grunts in frustration, swearing angrily under her breath as she retreats to her cabin rather than go see Josephine.

_She doesn’t really want company right now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS  
> pequeño cuchilla - little blade, one of my mixes of Italian and Spanish to make Antivan.


	22. Not Meaning What I Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine and Cassandra team up on Leliana in School: You Might Be a Bad Parent. Sera and Subira pull a prank, but who's laughing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know how long this is but I’m gonna post it because I don’t know how long it’s gonna be before I can write

Cassandra debates on storming into Leliana’s tent, but is far too exhausted for that. Striding in and leaning up against a post, she waits until Leliana decides to acknowledge her.

Leliana goes for pleasant. “What can I do for you, my friend?”

“Cut the shit, Leliana,” Cassandra grunts. “What did you say to Anita?”

The woman’s eyes widen imperceptibly in surprise before her mask falls back into place.

“I am unsure-“

“Leliana,” Cassandra warns, “I am _not_ playing games.”

The other woman sighs. “I asked her for details that she left out of her report on Redcliffe.”

Cassandra’s face darkens.

“I did not mean anything by it,” she continues. “I figured even the smallest details could-“

“You did not mean anything by it?” Cassandra’s voice is thunderous. “Maker, but I could _throttle_ you right now, Leliana.”

Leliana doesn’t know what to say.

“We ask - ask so much of her. She gives and gives and gives, has not stopped giving to a cause she does not even _want!”_ Cassandra’s voice is a yell now. “And you could not allow her that _one_ thing?”

“I...”

“No, Leliana. I do not care for your _knives dressed up in pretty words_ right now. You’re going to _fix_ this.”

“How do you expect me to do that?”

The Seeker laughs harshly on her way out. “Find a way.”

Leliana rubs a hand over her face tiredly, absentmindedly stroking one of her ravens.

* * *

_“Psst, Sera!”_

Subira watches the elf’s head go back and forth.

_“Up here!”_

Sera looks up, laughing wildly. “What’re ya doin’ up there?”

Subira shushes her. “Come up here!”

Sera giggles before climbing up onto the roof of the house. “What’s goin’ on, Harry?”

“I’ve heard you like to pull pranks.” Subira says in a conspiratorial whisper.

Sera’s face splits into a grin. “That I do.”

Subira smiles and lifts up a bucket of paint.

“Want to prank with me?”

Sera cackles. _“Do_ I? _Of course I do!”_

“Alright, now I’ve got a plan...”

* * *

“Pardon me, Lady Josephine, but have you seen Anita?” Cassandra asks from the doorway.

Josephine looks up briefly. “No, Seeker. Why?”

“Well, it’s - _Nothing,”_ the Seeker huffs, turning to leave.

“No, no, come back here!” Josephine chides. Cassandra turns back slowly. “What is it?”

“It’s just that I’d normally have seen her by now,” the woman grumbles.

Josephine smiles knowingly.

“What?” Cassandra huffs.

“You’re _worried!”_ Josephine all but coos.

_“Of course I'm not!”_

“Alright...” But Josephine is smiling and Cassandra can’t resist the start of a smile.

A soldier comes up behind the Seeker. “Seeker, I have been requested to fetch you and Lady Montilyet.”

Cassandra turns, brow furrowed. “By whom?”

He shakes his head. “I cannot say. Only that Commander Cullen is waiting for you with Sister Leliana at the steps of the Chantry.”

Josephine and Cassandra exchange a look and proceed to the doors of the Chantry.

“Do either of you know what this is about?” Cassandra asks, arms crossed in front of her.

Cullen sighs. _“No,_ I had hoped you would.”

Leliana is silent, scanning their surroundings.

On the roof tops, something moves. “What was-“

_“Now!”_

Two figures take off at running starts from the rooftops, bows drawn. Their arrows cross over each other, each hitting the intended target; a sheepskin full of paint, splattering all over nearby soldiers and the sides of houses.

High pitched laughter can be heard. _“Nice shot!”_

Two more arrows are shot from opposite sides, paint once again exploding all over the surrounding areas.

Cullen blanches. _“By the Maker!”_

“Cassandra, what can we do?” Josephine asks.

“I... am not sure,” the woman answers truthfully.

The shooting of arrows continues for several minutes, the town of Haven being splattered in blood red paint.

Suddenly, it’s quiet. The creaking of a bow string being drawn can be heard from above the Herald’s cabin.

“Lady Montilyet,” a voice calls. “I’d move, if _I_ were you.”

Josephine is startled into action by those words, as seconds later the arrow is fired above them and paint splatters atop Cullen, Cassandra, and Leliana. The steps of the Chantry are painted as well.

The figure on top of the roof disappears, and then it approaches from the side, throwing the bow on the ground and yanking down their hood.

“Disorienting, isn’t it?” Her voice is cool, looking out at the chaos left.

Anita turns back to them, staring at Leliana in particular. “This is what I saw.” She gestures wide. “A world painted _red,_ confusing and upside down. Nothing made sense. Much like what I’m sure you all felt before watching this go by.”

Sera stands a few feet away, blinking widely. _She’d_ thought _it was weird to want to use that color red..._

“Do _not_ ask me again, Sister Leliana.”

Anita turns and walks away, Sera looks between them like she missed something important and then trots off after the Herald.

Paint just barely splashed the hem of Josephine’s dress, but her eyes are trained onto Leliana, much like Cullen and Cassandra’s.

“How are we going to clean this up?” Cullen asks dismally.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way,” Josephine says brightly, eyes hard. _“Won’t we,_ Leliana?”

“Well, Lady Montilyet,” Cassandra starts, wiping paint off of her armor with a disgusted frown, “that’s easy for _you_ to say, _you’re_ not covered in paint.”

“Of course, Josie,” Leliana says absently, staring at the retreating back of Anita. “I’ll find a way.”


	23. So Many Questionable Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arguing is normal with your mom right? Also, Mom-Cassandra feels ft. Subira loses a fight against a shirt.

Cassandra and Anita arguing is a common sight among the Inquisition.

_“The Tevinter?”_

Today’s argument is about Dorian, Anita’s affectionate Uncle-like mage associate. Cassandra doesn’t trust him at all, and is attempting to sway her opinion on him.

“Yes, _the Tevinter_ \- Are you forgetting that he _turned_ on his home country to help us?”

Cassandra grumbles, folding her arms. “He is still of a like mind of his countrymen-“

Anita scoffs. “Are you _serious?”_

“You’re _entirely_ too free with your trust-“

“You think I _trust_ anyone?”

It’s silent after Anita’s biting question. She looks no closer to taking it back than she is to kicking Dorian out.

“Dorian can be a valuable member of the Inquisition. You won’t even give him a _chance,”_ Anita tries.

“Because it’s _chances_ that-“

“Not every organization is the Seekers, Cassandra!” Anita yells. Several heads turn towards them. Among them being Varric, Solas and Dorian, who happened to be in the area inconspicuously - _by which the narrator means entirely conspicuously, but Cassandra and Anita were too wrapped up in their argument to notice._

Cassandra’s face goes red to white. “I-“ she is silent for several moments. “You want to bring him with us immediately? Are you mad?”

Anita huffs, turning away from the older woman. “Dorian has done nothing but _help_ us. He is coming, and that’s _final.”_

After that argument, they ride for the Hinterlands. Dorian awkwardly tries to comfort Anita and Varric jibes about the woes of the Seeker as they go.

The party ends up being Varric, Dorian and Cassandra - meaning that the woman contemplates clawing her eyes out multiple times. Blackwall and Sera come with them, though they’ll be stationed in the Hinterlands, and will not be coming to the Storm Coast.

“How many more rifts do we have to close here?” Anita asks suddenly while they’re going over maps.

“None.” Cassandra answers while going over a ledger.

“Oh? Wonderful, we can move to the Storm Coast.”

“Are you sure you want to make such a trip so soon-“

Anita glares at her.

“I simply believe it would be more beneficial to continue work here-“

“Yes, yes,” Anita says agitatedly. “We have Solas’ elvhen relic to investigate and an entire Keep to clear out. But this mercenary group will not wait forever. There is much awaiting us on the Coast.”

Anita gives her a hard look and the older woman drops it with a sigh.

* * *

Subira groans. “My clothes are plastered to me!”

Dorian, with his hair wet and limp and his mustache frizzy, agrees. “This weather is absolutely _atrocious!”_

“Would you two stop _complaining?”_ Cassandra snaps.

The wet, rainy climate of the Storm Coast really wasn’t making her feel any better, though with armor it’s a bit easier to stay dry.

A bit.

“I’d have to be inclined to agree with them, Seeker,” Varric grumbles. Similarly, he’s in a bad mood, as with the horrible weather he can’t write without ruining his materials.

“Oh, look, the camp!” Subira breathes a sigh of relief.

Scout Lace Harding stands with a hood, though it doesn’t seem to be doing much good.

“Welcome to the Storm Coast,” she tries a smile, but all Subira wants is a warm pair of clothes. “Now there’s _a few_ things you should know...”

With a sigh, Subira enters the tent to change into dry clothes and more protective armor. Her wet shirt clings to her skin and she struggles to pull it off, tripping over her feet and landing in a grunting, grumbling heap.

Cassandra walks into the tent. “Did I miss a fight?”

 _“Ha-ha,_ you’re so funny,” Subira says sarcastically.

“Would you like my help?”

“Yes, please.” she mutters.

Cassandra also struggles, but fairs better than Subira, removing the wet article of clothing for the girl. With that out of the way, she changes into drier clothes, sighing when it warms her almost instantly, and heavier armor.

“Alright, Seeker.”

Cassandra shuts her book and stands, stretching.

“She said there were scouts missing, right? We’ll investigate that after we go meet this mercenary group, just in case it ends up being longer than expected.”


	24. Wish It Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storm Coast Adventures! It's kind of just universally accepted that Subira is the Tiny Version of Cassandra and they're both in charge. (everyone is more scared of Cassandra, though)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While posting chapter 23 I decided it was too short so I’m posting this one too. Enjoy!

With the wet weather it’s difficult for her to fight, but she adjusts. Fighting alongside Dorian is an interesting addition and finds herself distracted due to the plentiful banter.

“Anita, not to rush you my darling, but I believe the rift isn’t getting any younger!”

“Oh, I’m taking my time, aren’t I? My apologies!” She throws back, finally closing the rift with a bang.

Stopping to catch her breath, she notices a towering Qunari making his way over and tenses, reaching for a staff that isn’t there. She relaxes when she sees the man that she spoke to before at Haven.

“Cremissius!” She calls with a bright smile. “Fancy seeing you here!”

The man raises a hand in greeting, clearly overseeing something. The Qunari, who must be Iron Bull, is in front of her now.

“Another one of my country men...” Dorian mutters behind her, but she cares little for his rambling and pays full attention to the towering Qunari.

“Didn’t think it was true,” he grunts, looking down at her. “But I guess there’s worse candidates for fixing this mess.”

 _“Thanks,_ I think?”

Cassandra stands protectively at her side, arms crossed.

“I’m the Iron Bull, but I’m sure you already knew that,” he points to his horns. “Dead give away, you know?”

She chuckles. “Perhaps a little bit. Well, hello Iron Bull,” she sticks her hand out. “I’m Anita. Some call me the Herald of Andraste.”

He shakes her hand firmly, but gently. She’s glad for that, honestly, because his hands are huge and she’s sure he could break her bones.

He retracts into himself, and she notes that he tries to make himself smaller - less intimidating. Smart. _But not smart enough._

He sits on a stump of wood. “Nice to meet you. On to business, the Chargers want to offer their services to the Inquisition.”

Subira crosses her arms. “About that. Why would a _mercenary group_ offer their help?”

He shrugs. “End of the world? Listen, uh, I’m about to tell you something that could make you very mad. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

_Visions of the night her and Castelleta found Herah flash before her eyes._

She clenches her fist. “No, never. You see, I didn’t do much with politics before all of this.”

Cassandra eyes her, wondering what her angle is.

The Iron Bull continues on, unknowing. “Well, we’re kinda like - Qunari spies. And the Qun is real worried about that Breach. So, they sent me to check it out.”

“Why tell us?” She demands, dizzy with memories of barely getting out alive from fights with the Ben-Hassrath.

He’s unfazed, shrugging slightly. “Nothing gets past Red - your Spymaster. Figured we’d have a better chance if I was honest.”

She laughs loudly, shaking her head. _“Honesty?_ Fuck you.”

The Iron Bull’s eyes widened before he begins to roar with laughter. “Oh, _sh_ _it._ The stories _are_ true then!”

She steps forward and grabs the leather strap on his chest, pulling downwards as hard as she can. It doesn’t work as it would on a human or an elf, but he stumbles, and that’s enough.

“Listen here, _Ben-Hassrath,”_ She hissed, “You can join the Inquisition under a watchful eye - every single report you send to the Qun goes through _Leliana_ first. I have killed _enough of you_ \- and if you turn on us, _you’ll be the next_. Got it?”

The Qunari swallows, nodding. “Payment will, _uh,_ go through your Ambassador, so don’t worry about any of that,” he says, straightening when she releases him.

“I wasn’t.” She says coldly.

“Uh, good, then.” He clears his throat as Cremissius approaches.

Cassandra, Dorian and Varric watch with interest.

Cremissius approaches, clearing his throat. “Throat cutters are done, Chief.”

“Check again, I don’t want any of those ‘Vint bastards getting free. No offense, Krem.”

“None taken,” the man smirked, walking away. “Least us bastards know who our mothers are. Have one up on you Qunari then, right?”

Dorian sniffs in a way that tells her she’ll be getting thinly veiled comments about allowing him to stay.

“Oh, hold on!” Krem turns back. _“You’re_ the one I spoke with at Haven.”

Subira smiles. “That would be me. _Hello,_ Krem!”

Cassandra looks down. “You spoke to this man?”

“Yup!” She nods. “Wanted us to come see the mercenary company. _And_ now we have!”

The Seeker silently decides she should probably monitor what she does more.

“I didn’t realize you were the Herald,” Krem flusters, clearly embarrassed at having addressed her so informally.

“I didn’t tell you,” she points out.

“Right. I’m gonna... go check on the Throat Cutters now, Chief.”

“Anyway, Bull,” his head swivels to her. “You’re with us today. I want to see what you can do. The Chargers can head to Haven - I have some correspondence that can go with them.”

Dorian eyes Bull in distrust.

“And Dorian, so much as a _peep_ out of you and I’ll-“

“I’ve heard your creative threats the entire way here, Anita,” he pretends to brush off some lint. “I’ll behave.”

“Good. We have missing scouts to investigate.”

* * *

She’s humid, covered in dirt, sweat and blood by the time they make it to the Blades of Hessarian. There are Mabari hounds barking madly with foam mashing between their teeth, and angry looking men.

“Herald of Andraste!” The Leader bellows, banging a crude-looking sword against his shield. “Fight me!”

She grits her teeth. “You know what - _Fine!”_

Cassandra tugs on her arm. “I _cannot_ allow you to duel-“

Subira finds herself annoyed and rips her arm out of her grip. “You cannot _‘allow me’_ to do anything. I am going to accept the challenge.”

Bull meets Cassandra eyes briefly before stepping forward while she nods slightly, stepping back.

“Little Boss, pardon my boldness, but I could fight as your Champion?” Their new companion suggests, “I’d be a bad front line body-guard if I didn’t offer.”

Warily, she eyes him. Logically, she’s sure that he’s both trying to appease Cassandra and herself. Knowing it’s the best she’s going to get, she grumbles and throws a hand forward. “Take it away then,” she mutters.

Bull grins widely, taking his axe off of his back. “Oh man, this is gonna be great!” The Leader looks visibly nervous, now, as Bull approaches. “I am fighting as the Herald’s Champion. Do you accept?”

“The Challenge is for the _Herald-!”_

“Do you... _accept?”_ Iron Bull asks in a low voice.

The man across from him, bulky but significantly shorter than the tall Qunari, swallows and nods.

“Good,” Bull grins, but with an edge to it. _“Here_ I was thinking I’d have to kill you _without_ fighting you.”

* * *

Subira has to admit - and she does, at the campfire - that Bull is a formidable fighter. He beat the Leader of the Blades of Hessarian within minutes, his giant axe stopping right under his chin at the end - but even then the man refused to yield. Bull had simply shaken his head and finished it, leaving the rest to Subira.

Who, obviously, when the Blades of Hessarian offered themselves to the Inquisition, she accepted. Cassandra wasn’t pleased with her choice and Varric was a little stiff about it, but at least Dorian and Bull get why it was a smart move.

The Storm Coast was aptly named, evidently, because it never stops raining. The campfire is barely off the ground and yet the embers are kept alive by Dorian’s magic, something even Bull was grateful for.

“So, Little Boss,” his voice rumbles across the quiet suddenly. “What do you think ‘bout the Inquisition’s new Blades?”

She takes a moment to think before replying. “I believe their intel will prove invaluable,” she begins slowly, “but what do I know?”

He laughs a roaring laugh and Varric chuckles from where he, in vain, tries to write underneath a canopy they have set up.

“Indeed, Little Boss,” his chuckle rumbles. _“Indeed.”_

Dorian fluffs his feathers like an offended motherhen, but she lays a soothing hand on his arm. Bull and Dorian haven’t gotten along the entire time and Cassandra is already sick of it - Subira is not that far behind.

“Varric?” she calls out suddenly. He hums in response. “Why do Bull and Dorian... not _like_ each other?”

Immediately there’s overlapping responses of, _“We like each other,”_ and _“He’s a Qunari,”_ but she ignores them in favor of the dwarf she posed the question to.

Varric pauses, looks up, and then goes back to what he’s doing. “Well, Dorian is from Tevinter, Spitfire, and Bull is a Qunari-“

 _“No,_ no, I get that,” she insists, leaning forward in her seat. “I mean when they make problems from nothing just to flirt? But it’s _mean_ flirting? Why do they do _that?”_

Bull’s laughter booms throughout the camp, echoing and solid. Dorian looks as red as a ripe cherry.

Varric chuckles deeply, trying to control it and failing. “Well, Spitfire, you’re old enough to know what flirting is, and I’ve written enough books to be able to tell you one thing: sexual tension.”

She furrows her brow. “They _have..._ sexual tension?”

Varric nods, going back to writing.

“But... okay,” she shrugs helplessly, not at all any closer to understanding.

“Sorry, kiddo,” he shrugs apologetically.

“It’s okay,” she smiles widely, “I’ll just ask Cassandra!”

Dorian chokes on his drink while Varric guffaws, shaking his head. Bull laughs loudly, barely able to control it.

“Little magister, I _implore_ you,” Dorian says when he’s caught his breath again, “do _not_ ask Cassandra about this. And if you do, _promise you’ll do it when I’m around!”_


	25. Hiding From the Fighting, Longing to See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're one step closer to closing the Breach. Subira breaks her own heart.

The missive from Leliana arrives three weeks into their ‘adventures’ on the Storm Coast.

> 10 11 9:41
> 
> Grand Enchanter Fiona sends her regards with good news.
> 
> She and the Rebel Mages have finished studying the Breach.
> 
> Return to Haven ASAP.
> 
> S.N

Subira scowled at the missive multiple times, wanting to clutch it in her hand and be done with it. Instead she takes several deep breaths and places it on the desk, penning a quick reply.

> 14 11 9:41
> 
> Pausing engagement in the Coast. Changing direction towards Haven now. Will arrive within the week.
> 
> A

Deeming that acceptable, she folds the missive and steps out of the tent, quietly instructing the runner to immediately make it back to Haven and to not delay. As soon as the runner is off, mud splashing in the wake of his horses hooves against the rocky ground, she turns to the Inquisition Camp.

She clears her throat. “Attention!”

Her party, all lounging around the fire, look up immediately. They each share a look - the same one every time she becomes a little bit more like a leader. The question _“how much of herself will she lose to this cause”_ is always on their lips - but never spoken. It doesn’t have to be.

The girl folds her arms behind her back and takes up a wide stance. “We will be heading back to Haven at once. Anyone who needs to change post or deliver missives may come and do so now.”

Eventually, one of the scouts nod. “Right away, Herald!” And with a busy walk, began to gather their things.

This prompted everyone else to begin preparing and she, surprisingly, found herself pleased. As she waits, satchel around her waist and note from Leliana clutched tightly in one hand, she gently strokes her mount.

He’s become an invaluable friend during their time in the Storm Coast. At night when she could not sleep, she would sit next where he stood for the night and quietly rant - often feeling vindicated by his agreeable sounding snorts and whinnies from time to time.

“Little Boss, camp is loaded up. You ready to go?”

The Iron Bull is a potion she has not yet learned to swallow, and it takes several moments for her face not to sour.

“Yes, Bull,” she manages, turning to face her saddle. “Just a moment.”

He lingers hesitantly, a strange combination when paired with his size. “Do you want a hand?”

She pauses, considering it, and looks up at her giant horse with a sigh. _“Fine,”_ she mutters.

He grins and steps forward, hands clasped together. “Okay, so, I’m not going to give you a leg up, because if I did then you’ll be launching over him and into the Waking Sea,” she actually laughs a bit at that, “so I’m just goin’ to lift you up onto him. Got it?”

She nods. “Sort of? Go for it - _Oh!”_

Bull lifted her carefully, underneath her armpits, and places her on the back of her horse. She looks from where she was to where she is and back to Bull.

“Holy... _shit,”_ she says in awe.

He grins. “We’re ready to go when you are, Little Boss.”

 _By the Maker if he isn’t growing on her._ She scowls, shoving the now probably torn missive into her saddle pack.

“Let’s get moving, Inquisition!” She calls, turning her horse towards the edge of camp. “We have lots of ground to cover.”

* * *

Her back and the bottom of her thighs are as sore as they’ve ever been upon returning to Haven, having ridden at a fast pace to make good time. There are people at the gate when they approach, and she groans.

“Is it too late to just bury myself in the snow?” She says, muffled by her headwrap as she pulls it across her face in agitation.

Bulls deep chuckle shakes even the leaves. “I think it is a little too late for that one, Little Boss.”

He turns his head to Cassandra. “Boss, anything I should know about Haven?”

The woman raises an eyebrow.

“You know, before a _giant Qunari_ walks into a sleepy mountain town?”

Her mouth makes an ‘O’ shape. “Not that I know of, Iron Bull. Just don’t make too much of a fuss. Also, here,” she digs through her saddle bags and hands him a scroll.

“Hell yes!” He grins widely.

“What is it?” Subira asks politely.

“The Chargers arrived just a few days ago after stopping in with two of your companions in the Hinterlands,” Bull informs her from the scroll.

“That’s nice,” she said without any feeling behind it. Conversation picks up and slows down but she barely notices.

She sighs, her head dropping tiredly. As soon as they’re closer to Haven her frowning face picks up and a tight smile stretches itself over her lips.

Dismounting several feet away from the waiting group of Advisors she holds her horses reins in one hand and places the other on her hip. “Alright, what’s with the welcoming party?”

Josephine laughs. “We felt it was appropriate to greet you, considering the subject of your arrival.”

“I suppose...” she blows a piece of hair out of the way, scrunching up her face when it falls back onto her nose and lips.

“Well then,” she says when her horse has been taken from her to be put away. Her companions - all but Cassandra, a pivotal member of the Inquisition - have dispersed. “Let’s get to business, shall we?”

* * *

Hunched over the War Room table, she doesn’t meet the eyes of any of the others who are gathered there.

Grand Enchanter Fiona, whom she hasn’t had a chance to speak with since her arrival, stands quietly in the back of the room. Leliana and Josephine stand opposite each other and Cullen stands next to Fiona, at the opposite head of the table to Subira. Cassandra has her arms folded behind her back and observes from the side.

“Grand Enchanter, if you would be so kind as to share your findings to start this meeting off,” Subira says softly.

The woman clears her throat. “After studying the Breach, we determined that your companion, Solas - is indeed correct about many of his theories. It is him that helped lead us to many of these discoveries about the Breach and subsequently, how the mark will affect it.

“But nonetheless - without the mages supplying you power, it would be a vacuum, constantly taking. You would not survive, we estimated,” Subira blanches, so the woman rushes to continue.

“After a considerable amount of research, it was decided that we simply needed a considerable amount of lyrium for such a harrowing task - as well as having our mages practice relentlessly with Solas on the transfer of energy and magic.”

Subira breathes a bit easier. “Alright,” she processes with a nod. _“Thank you,_ Grand Enchanter. Now, we do have to think about where to go after closing the Breach - you know, Inquisition priorities, but I think that can wait.”

She sighs, rubbing her face. “Finish whatever correspondence you have tonight, settle your dues. Tonight and tomorrow will be set aside for the town of Haven to... prepare. Then, we close that damned thing once and for all.”

Everyone murmurs small noises of agreement. They do not talk about how many meanings ‘prepare’ could have.

“You heard the Herald,” Cassandra’s voice calls out. “And, Grand Enchanter? Be sure to keep a copy of your notes on the Breach. I’m sure history would like them.”

Subira nods. “I would like them, too.”


	26. Hope is Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breach is closed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update to this, my friend is literally a godsend and she’s my unofficial beta but totally my beta, but basically. uh. i didn’t keep track of time AT ALL so I was like “hey can you calculate for me”  
> it was not, in fact, three months.  
> IT HAD BEEN 183 DAYS.  
> so uh. it’s Cloudreach, and I’m an idiot. it’s literally a miracle that this chapter hasn’t been posted yet and that I’m updating a draft.

Everyone in Haven is spending time with those they’ve become comrades with in the past six or so months, attempting to restore order to the world. But Subira... she stares at her satchel, sitting on her bed mockingly. It has every important thing she could ever need in it - including the potions she brewed for herself when she had the resources to do so. Her heart aches suddenly at the thought of losing these people.

 _As soon as the Breach is closed,_ she told herself.

_It doesn’t make it hurt any less._

* * *

Vivienne is the one who finds her looking out at the snowy lands surrounding Haven, hands behind her back and no expression to be seen.

She simply asks, “Are you afraid?”

And Subira weighs this question in her mind. On one hand, Vivienne is someone she’s already begun to look up to - a strong mage woman - But is also expecting something with her answers.

“Only fools are afraid of things that they cannot see,” she settles on. And it’s true. If she dies closing the Breach, at least she kept the world safe for her friends.

Vivienne nods, a small smile quirking on the corner of her lips. “Very good.”

Subira dips her head. “Thank you, Madame.”

Vivienne waves a hand. “My dear, call me Vivienne when it is the two of us.”

Subira feels herself relaxing marginally. “Then you must call me Anita, too,” she challenges.

The older woman laughs softly. “Who am I to deny the wishes of the Herald of Andraste herself? As you say, Anita.”

“Thank you,” she says genuinely.

The woman is already walking away. “Whatever for, darling? I only reminded you of a fact,” she says vaguely over her shoulder.

“And what would that be?” Subira asks curiously.

Vivienne stops walking and turns. “That there is nothing to fear. But I did nothing - _you_ did the work.”

The woman continues walking and Subira sits on the walls for as long as there is daylight, contemplating Vivienne’s words.

* * *

Dorian is the one who comes to wake her up. His warm voice encourages her to lift her legs from the bed and rise, attaching everything she may need onto her person.

The sun is barely over the horizon, burning peak blazing from where it edges over. But the calm starry night sky stays constant, slowly being chased away by a milky morning. Her breathing calms as she watches it.

Opening the door, she blinks. Dorian, Varric, Cassandra and Sera stand before her, all wearing different faces of wavering concern. Somewhere in the back, she notices Vivienne and Iron Bull chatting, Solas off to the side.

“What are you all doing here?” She tilts her head.

“Oh, little magister,” Dorian says fondly. “We wouldn’t leave you to do this yourself. You’ve collected quite the bunch of people here, you know.”

And it’s true - _an apostate elvhen mage, a Tevinter Altus, a rogue Seeker, a wanted fugitive with a writing career, a Loyalist mage and a Ben-Hassrath._ _Imagine the bar jokes one could make with that,_ she muses.

“I’m glad to have you all by my side,” she says finally, looking somewhere in the distance. Behind her, the sun continues to rise slowly. “Thank you for fighting to get us where we are. Let’s close this Breach.”

Together, her small support group and the mages make their way to the ruins. Even as she approaches from yards away the energy left behind shakes her core and she shudders on her next exhale.

Grand Enchanter Fiona eyes her from her place beside her, staff clutched tightly in her hand. Vivienne and Dorian walk on the other side, discussing magical theory - occasionally with input from Fiona. Solas is uncharacteristically silent, with not one remark about the Breach spilling from his lips and instead a tight-lipped frown on his face.

It all feels like background noise to Subira, who is planning her escape even as they march toward their impending victory. To _the Herald of Andraste_ \- who is about to do the impossible task she set out to do and then _abandon_ the cause her name is tied to.

Standing under the Breach again leaves her with a sense of foreboding that shakes her very being. She watches the mages get into position, with Solas’ firm hand and Vivienne’s cool guidance and Fiona overseeing the whole affair - while Dorian stands by her side. She can see Fiona anxiously eyeing her and wonders when she’ll be able to speak with her next.

She turns to look at the man who very quickly felt like family and tries to smile but it wavers, memorizing every detail about him.

Dorian frowns. “What’s wrong?”

She looks up at the Breach. “Nothing, Dorian,” she sighs, clenching her fist. “Just anxious.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” the mage says with a grin, patting her head gently. “You’re going to be _just_ fine.”

“I _know,_ Dorian,” she replies, trying to choke back the sudden wave of tears. _“I know.”_

In the background, Bull and Cassandra talk out of the corner of their mouths. Her expression is worried, and Subira doesn’t blame her. _This could go very badly._

 _“Mages!”_ Fiona suddenly calls out. “In position!”

Time to get ready, then. With one last steadying squeeze on her shoulder, Dorian backs up to her line of supporters waiting for her.

“Channel your energy into the Herald!” Solas’ normally level voice is clear and sounds like an echoing boom in the hallowed temple.

Slowly, the transfer of mana begins. It pools in her and the mark begins to buzz underneath her skin. In a great beam of light, the Breach connects to her hand and for several moments, it is too bright to see.

Subira is cast backwards, the wind knocked out of her and she’s left looking up at the sky in a daze. Dorian hurries to her side, breathing a sigh of relief at her slowly blinking eyes. Cassandra is right behind him, trying to hold back.

 _“Dorian,”_ she rasps, sitting up. “I did it?”

He smiles and points at the sky - a scar of greens and blues and purples ripple across, but no longer does the Breach remain.

The sound of cheering all around her reaches her ears and she barely summons the emotional energy to smile and throw up a fist, causing a large whooping to erupt from the area.

 _“Woohoo,”_ she said weakly, and then let’s her weight fall back into the snow. Her companions laugh and begin the task of helping her up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update from an ENTIRELY different day (7/9/19) im posting this with chapter 24 because ch.24 is so short. E N J O Y I’m not posting the others until I finish at least the Hidden Oasis scenes etc. see you soon!!


	27. Gone are the Days of our Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for the Elder Ones attack... but where was Subira?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys I just got out of surgery to repair my tendons and I have to recover for 4-6 weeks but I have a few more chapters to upload here and still more to separate into drafts, don’t worry!

Everyone is celebrating. She can hear it as the sun sets; the dancing, the mead and the laughing - _the assurance that they’ll live another day._ She’s been avoiding it all for hours, just sitting in the small cabin that has become almost like a home to her - somewhere to come back to after a hard day, that would always be there, and it’s become bittersweet to sit in the space she’s claimed as her _own._

Josephine had attempted to get her to come out earlier, with a gentle voice and soft knocking until she finally gave up. Not without promising to have tea waiting for them later. Leliana herself tried as well, checking through the window - _thankfully Subira had thought to hide under the bed._ She thinks Sera, Dorian and Bull tried to come see her at some point, but the hours have blended together so much that she has no idea if they did or not.

With a remorseful sigh, she slides off of her bed and pulls up her hood before quietly slipping into the night.

When she notices the army on the mountains, she’s very far away from Haven. The smell of burnt copper drifted to her, grey snow mixed with soot and red peered eerily peered at her from afar. Deep into the snow and at least a candlemark away, she whispers an apology into the wind before going as fast as possible back to Haven, wondering if once again she’ll be too late.

She can only imagine, when the alarm begins to blare and, in a hurry and covered in snow, how she looks to them - a different set of clothes, her weapons and her satchel on her person - but there’s no time for any of it.

Cullen is barking orders and Cassandra is pacing anxiously while Josephine shakes and Leliana tries to soothe her. It’s all too much for her to handle, turning away from the accusing eyes.

 _“I can’t help if you don’t let me in!”_ A pleading, echoing voice calls out.

Curiously, she walks closer to the door. The presence isn’t a threat, and they just want her to-

Suddenly the door is open and before her stands a hulking behemoth of what used to be a man, covered in red lyrium. He stands there for a moment, swaying before falling with a great thump and revealing a new figure behind it.

“Oh, no,” she murmurs, eyes focused on the corpse. “No, no, _no!”_

“Anita!” Cassandra calls, coming closer, her hand outstretched. “What is wrong?”

“It’s-“ words fail her. Nausea rises in her stomach. She rapidly feels the blood leaving her face as she panics.

 _“A world painted in red,”_ the strange boy breathes, and all heads turn to him. “The Elder One - he’s here. He’s _really_ not happy you took his mages.”

She thinks that her heart stops for a full second when he says that, because she blinks and then she’s on the ground with her head between her knees. Josephine’s soothing voice is in her ear and warm hand rubbing her back.

When she looks up, the strange boy is knelt in front of her. His hat obscures his eyes but something makes her feel like he doesn’t need to be looking at her to see.

“My name is Cole,” he says softly. “And I want to help. You can still save this one.”

His grounding, sure words brought her back to reality, each breath crushing the fragile weight of her chest.

“Okay, Cole,” she says determinedly, still shaking. “Then help you shall.”

Standing, she dusts herself off, pushing aside Josephine’s fretting. “Commander, strategy. _Now!”_

He jumps, affronted, before settling back into pacing. “Well - the odds don’t look good. But with the trebuchets we have a better chance-“

“Perfect,” she interrupts. “We must protect Haven. Bring everyone to the Chantry, and I will bring a small force to the trebuchets. Good luck,” she pauses, and then adds:

“Maker be with you, Commander.”

He smiles sadly. “And also with you, Anita.”

Josephine stops her before she can take off, pulling the girl into a tight hug and then pulling back, placing a lingering kiss on the top of her head. “Be safe and come back to us, _Tesoro.”_

She can only nod, trying a watery smile and rushing to begin the preparations. Hurriedly traveling around Haven, she runs into several of her allies; Dorian plants himself by her side, staff in hand at all times.

“I am _not_ leaving you,” he says stubbornly, pretending to preen at himself, “Let’s go find the others.”

Sera is the next to offer her help to defend Haven.

“And miss all this? You must be outta your mind. I’ve got your back, Harry,” and the elf ruffles Subira’s hair affectionately.

Cassandra, of course, once they run into her again, adamantly demands to come with her.

“I am responsible for you, Anita,” she argues, swallowing thickly. “It would not be - I am not allowing you to go out there on your own.”

“Hey, Seeker!” Sera blows a raspberry. “She has us, too!”

The woman only makes a vaguely annoyed noise, but Sera seems to count it as a victory.

“Varric!” Anita calls out, beyond thankful her favorite sarcastic dwarf is unharmed. “I need you to spread the word to my other allies; I need anyone who isn’t coming with me to the front lines to defend the people of Haven - get them to the Chantry!”

Varric winks, pulling Bianca off of his back. “You got it, Spitfire. Be safe out there, okay? You better come back in one piece.”

She smiles weakly before leading the charge to the trebuchet, every attack feeling stronger and angrier. Those infested with red lyrium give off immense, oppressive heat and when they close in on her space she fights the urge to gag at the awful stench of decaying flesh stuck to the growing mineral.

“I almost got it!” She grunts, turning her focus solely to the trebuchet and forgetting her blindside.

“Anita!” Dorian yells. The only warning she gets is the barrier he casts falling over her snugly.

The barrier, while protective, is not enough to save her from when the trebuchet explodes. She goes flying into the snow, groaning and feeling numb. Gauntleted hands flip her over and search her frantically.

“I’m fine, Cass,” she murmurs. “Completely alive, see?”

“There is a dragon, Anita,” the woman says urgently. “We must go, _now!”_

Subira forces herself to her feet, moving as fast as possible back to the chantry. For once she does not see the flashes of a world in red that used to haunt her, because instead it is unfolding in front of her eyes.

She slams a Templar into the ground, her dagger in his neck. She doesn’t look at his unseeing eyes.

Something slams into her and she rolls over to get away, shakily pulling herself off the dirt, lip split and bleeding onto the snow around her. She has a discarded short sword held in one hand and a dagger in the other.

She charges a behemoth coming up behind Cassandra. The hulking mass of used-to-be-man stumbles, groaning. An onslaught of arrows and spells volley into him and he falls with a thud.

“Herald!” A soldier pants, emerging from the Chantry. “Commander Cullen requests your presence.”

Knowing there is nothing more she can do for the town behind her, she enters the Chantry with a sense of finality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations!  
> tesoro - a term of endearment, its like 'dear' or 'sweetheart'


	28. Promise Surviving the Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elder One is gone, Subira is in the snow, and the Inquisition mourns the loss of their Herald.

Everything is... _fuzzy._ _What happened?_ Subira tries to move but finds herself stuck and groans, too tired to continue. Absently she can feel the pain of cold surrounding her on all sides and something crushing her leg.

_Come on, wake up._

Castelleta’s voice rings in her head firmly when her eyes slip shut and she groans. “But I don’t want to get up yet,” she murmurs.

_Really, Su? It’s time to get up._

Herah, now, with a soft smile she can feel.

“But I’m so _tired...”_

_You can do it, Su._

Michalis’ bright voice fills every corner of the darkness in her mind and she finally forces her eyes all the way open, blinking sluggishly in the blue tinted light of the cave.

Haven... Dragon... _Corypheus... **Corypheus!**_

Subira tries to get up but cries out - her leg is caught by a piece of the trebuchet that got pushed after her. “Fuck, okay,” she grits out. “Think, Subira, what do you do...”

_I’d get the big piece of wood off of your leg before you lose it._

Despite knowing that the voice of Castelleta isn’t real, she can’t help but talk back.

She grunts. “Thanks, ass, but _how?”_

In vain, she tries to scramble out from underneath it and gasps when all it does is tug on her leg stuck underneath it.

_Ouch, Su. Don’t try that again._

Herah is slightly more sympathetic in her head and she feels vindicated, slightly. She’d feel more happy about it if she wasn’t hearing their voices because she’s probably near death.

“Ugh!” She shouts, frustrated with the wood on her leg. “Why won’t you just _move?!”_

She can barely pull on her mana with how exhausted she is, but if she uses just a little bit and pushes with both of her legs...

Gritting her teeth, she drags the tiniest bit of magic forward and uses it to force the wood upward, pushing as hard as she can with her legs. Tears stream down her face and she scrambles out of the tiny space made for her, gasping and shuddering when she’s out.

Now she can properly assess the damage, leaning up against a wall. Bringing a hand up to her head brings more blood than she can stand the sight of right now and quickly moves on, feeling a swollen bump on her temple. She must’ve hit her nose, but by some divine luck it didn’t break, it only feels bruised. Blood is dried underneath it and mixes uncomfortably with the snot dripping out of her nose from the cold and her tears.

She inspects her hand and flinches when she touches her own wrist, gingerly pressing on the deep claw marks left by Corypheus. They bleed shallowly and they don’t worry her too much, so she moves to her torso and hisses uncomfortably. Determining that she most likely broke some ribs at least, she moves to her bad leg and immediately jumps back when she touches it.

_Yeah, she’s fucked._

“Okay, this is good, you know what? This is good,” she mutters to herself. “I have my pack-“

Her pack is no longer around her waist.

_“Fuck!”_

Turning left and right, she searches with her eyes for her satchel and breathes a deep sigh of relief when she sees it sticking out of some snow just out of her reach.

“Alright, I can do this...” She braces herself to move...

_“Figlio di puta! Cazzo culo!”_

Her leg flares with pain and she forces herself through it, gritting her teeth until she can grasp the strap of her satchel and drag it out of the snow towards her, breath leaving her in gasps. She wraps her wrist first, sparingly using her poultice. She attempts to wrap her ribs but only ends up with more pain and gives up on it, turning her full attention to the awful wound on her leg.

Her thigh is bruised deeply, the dark skin mottled and broken underneath. The bone must be broken, but she doesn’t know if she can reset it herself. All she can do is wrap it together and down one of her potions, making getting up with the help of the wall just a little bit easier.

Throughout all of this, the mark is surprisingly quiet in her hand. It’s almost like it’s lying in wait, dormant, to see how far she can make it. _Well, she’ll show it._

When the demons appear ahead of her, hissing and growling, she’s desperate and angry. All she really knows is that she doesn’t want to die yet - _but didn’t she?_ \- and certainly not to demons, and a scream rips itself from her throat as she forces the mark to life.

The demons are gone when she opens her eyes, ripped apart before her and thrust back to whence they came.

She stares at her palm in distrust and disbelief. “Oh, okay. So we’re just doing that now? Got it, got it.”

_Talking to yourself, Su?_

“I have nothing else to keep me awake,” she shrugs to her mind-Castelleta.

The snow is blinding when she steps out of the cave, immediately causing a disorienting feeling to fall over her. The cave is only a few feet behind her and she looks back.

If she stays there, she’ll likely die before anyone finds her. If she goes into the storm, she may die before she finds anyone.

Taking a deep breath, she walks into the unrelenting snow.

* * *

Sera had cursed them all out.

“Right, then. So we’re just supposed to _leave her there?_ In the _snow?”_

When Varric tried to console her, she flipped him the bird before trudging as far ahead in the thick snow that she could when she found out that Anita stayed behind. Similarly, the dwarf was also upset by the loss - numb in a way he hasn’t felt since Kirkwall was determined unsafe for all of his friends to stay together.

Dorian is quiet. Not even Varric can prod him into chuckling or commenting, and Iron Bull’s presence doesn’t even faze him. He just keeps wishing he had done more. Staring at the whistling snow and hoping she’ll walk out of it. Even Vivienne, surprisingly, appears to be very deep in mourning for the child. She is somber and withdrawn, thinking about the child who had seemed invincible.

Josephine had been crying for as long as they had been walking. The tears didn’t stop once they started; they would only dull and then overflow with new warmth and freeze on her cheeks. Leliana tried to comfort her, but the woman couldn’t be consoled.

 _“Lascia riposare!”_ Josephine snarled in Antivan when, still, Leliana persisted. The hooded woman retreated quietly.

Leliana, unsurprisingly, wore no outward emotion. But it was clear to anyone who knew where to look and what to look for that this didn’t leave her unshaken - red rimmed eyes and staring into space, frequently muttering to herself and tightly clenched fists all lead to her distress.

Cassandra, next to her, could barely contain her anger. Anger was the easiest emotion next to sadness, and she was furious with the young girl for sacrificing herself like that. And she was beyond devastated that she had lost her.

The Commander and Solas, if one could believe it, were walking side by side in an empty quiet. It wasn’t companionable - they certainly weren’t friends, but nor was it an uncomfortable silence. It was simply silence - empty and gaping, because neither man could summon something to say after the loss of Anita.

When they set up camp, none of them could look at each other. Too afraid to see the pieces that Anita left in them all, and too afraid that they weren’t there to begin with. That she would already be washed away from them or buried in the snow with her.

Everyone was drawn into their own circle of thought. Josephine helped with the refugees, Leliana had her scouts scouring the black of night as best as they could to find that little girl. The Commander directed his soldiers to aid the wounded with help from the Chargers and Cassandra. Nearly everyone was doing something to keep their mind off of the fact that a child had demanded she be allowed to be used as a sacrifice... and they let her.

Eventually things settled down, with more and more of Leliana’s scouts reports turning up nothing, they had to begin to talk about a plan of action.

“Hey!” Varric stands before them, hands planted on his hips. For once, there isn’t a coy smirk on his lips or smugness in his voice. And then he demands, his voice cracking on the end, “I want to know what happened. Why didn’t she make it?”

Cassandra’s throat closes on the question, her eyes immediately shutting. _Why didn’t she make it?_ What a good question indeed.

_She hasn’t stopped asking herself that._

“Bring the Iron Bull and Dorian to us, Varric,” she says when she has control of her voice.

The dwarf does so without remarking, talking back or questioning. Then, they all stand in a hesitant circle, quiet and tear stained.

“Well?” Varric demands. _He’s the one getting answers this time._

“The story starts with me,” a blonde boy murmurs from behind them.

“Who... You’re the boy who helped Roderick show us the way,” Cassandra remembers suddenly.

He tilts his head at her from under his hat. “Very good. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me, but you did.”

“How does the story start with you, kid?” Varric asks.

The boys voice becomes a hushed murmur when he speaks. “A world of lyrium caught on fire. Gasping, burning breaths. _‘Be strong’_ she says, and then they are gone. She thinks that perhaps now she can return the favor.”

He disappears after that - with no trace of him that ever said he was there.

Dorian clears his throat, hoarse from crying. “... So, with that story?”

“Right,” the Commander starts, just as torn up as the rest of them. “Well, when the... _Cole,_ told us Roderick had something to tell us...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figlio di puta! Cazzo culo - a mix of Italian and Spanish to make a wonderful pair of swears, 'son of a whore' and 'fucking ass' (though. it may translate to dick ass which... is fine too. i can imagine subira yelling that)  
> Lascia riposare! - leave it alone/let it rest!


	29. Maker Remind Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically a recap of what went down in Haven told through flashbacks. A surprise at the end! Don’t be worried for too long.

It wasn’t looking good for them with the addition of the dragon. Subira swore in every language she knew in her mind, and then her head shot up.

_She was being watched._

Sure enough, helping Chancellor Roderick stumble into the Chantry was the boy who had warned them. She cannot see his eyes from underneath his hat, but she knows he has something to say.

“We can bury Haven,” Cullen offers, running a hand over his face. “We can choose how we go. Not many get that.”

“No, we don’t,” she says slowly, calculating eyes studying the odd boy. “Do we, Cole?”

Cole shakes his head. “Chancellor Roderick has something he wants to tell you. He’s going to die.”

The man weakly lifts his head. “What a charming… boy…” he attempts a chuckle, but it’s dry. “There is a path... out of Haven,” he rasps. “You wouldn’t know it if you didn’t make the yearly pilgrimage. Andraste must’ve shown me...”

Suddenly she’s filled with hope, turning to Cullen. “Commander, have Chancellor Roderick lead you out. I’m going to go say hello to the Elder One.”

Cullen’s face scrunches up. “There is _no way_ I’m letting you do that, Anita.”

“No way you’re letting her do _what?”_ Cassandra approaches, her _‘no time for bullshit’_ face plastered on.

“I - Nothing!” Subira replies defensively.

“Chancellor Roderick has a way out of here,” Cullen says slowly, sorrow in his eyes.

“Well, that’s good news,” the woman replies, brow furrowed. “So what does that have to do-“

Subira walks to the door. “To get out of here, _someone_ has to stay behind.”

Realization dawns on Cassandra, horror coloring her features. “By Andraste! _No,_ you’re not-“

A hollow laugh escapes her. “You haven’t been able to stop me from doing anything since you met me, Seeker,” the woman frowns. Subira sighs and continues,

“Cass, the world needs you. _All_ of you. This Elder One won’t stop until he gets _me._ I’m going to show him what he’s missing.”

“Like hell you are,” Bull grunts, approaching with Dorian.

The mage nods. “Quite right, little one,” he smirks, but there’s no life behind it.

_He’s terrified._

“None of you can stop me from walking out of this door right now,” she points out, hand reaching toward her satchel as a last resort.

Bull looks her over and then raises a hand. “I probably could,”

She thinks on it and shrugs. “Yeah, you probably _could._ But you aren’t going to - _Look!_ This is the best for everyone!”

“If you’re going out there, I am coming with you.” Cassandra insists.

Bull grunts his agreement. “Me too, short-stuff.”

“Couldn’t keep me away,” Dorian nods.

Subira sighs deeply, dropping her hand. “I can’t stop you, can I? Let’s go give them hell.”

They fight their away across the once quiet town, the sky streaked with smoke. Every time she feels her resolve falter, she thinks of all the dead they could not save lying in the snow and her fight returns tenfold. The Chant of Light quietly falls from her lips, too quiet for anyone to hear but her. She does not let the familiar phrases spill from her lips out of comfort - not the traditional kind, anyway. She is in two worlds of red at once, dancing through snow colored with blood, the sky dark with smoke and dragon fire.

The dragon gets closer, encroaching on their fought for territory. “Bull! How’s the trebuchet?”

He grunts. “Nearly there, kid!”

She doesn’t reply, throwing herself at another Red Templar. _It can’t be long now._

“Bull!” He halts his hands on the wheel, turning to face her. She moves closer and lowers her voice. “When it’s time... get them out of here.”

His grip on the trebuchet falters. “I can’t-”

“No!” She shouts, turning to another Templar that was fast approaching. “You _will_ do this, Bull!”

The Templar is dead by the time he found himself nodding and continued cranking.

_“Now her hand is raised-“_

She takes out another Red Templar who was too close to Dorian, shoving her dagger into his stomach.

_“-A sword to pierce the sun-“_

Cassandra charges forward and bashes a Templar with her shield, allowing Subira to slip in and cut her short sword across his back and twist her dagger into his ribs.

_“-With an iron shield she defends the faithful-“_

A Templar stuns Cassandra and knocks Subira to her knees. She glares hatefully up at him before throwing a bottle at the ground and rolling backwards, arms spread before her companion.

Her eyes happen to trail to the sky, looking at the dragon fast approaching.

“Move! _Now!”_

The flames separated them now, winded on her back. She hopes Bull keeps his promise. Struggling to her knees she whispers the last line as she gets to her unsteady feet:

_“-Let chaos be undone.”_

* * *

Cassandra, for as cold as she is, suddenly feels hot with anger. “She told you to get us out of there - and you _listened?!_ She needed us, she needed-“

“How were we going to get to her, Boss?” Bull asks tiredly. “She made the right call.”

Varric pats Dorian on the arm, who looks deep in thought. “Something the matter, Sparkler?”

The mage shakes his head. “No, I’m simply reflecting...”

The dwarf raises a brow. “On?”

“Anita was reciting, _before...”_ he trailed off. Everyone looks in different directions at the reminder that they could not save her.

“Ah!” He says suddenly, startling them. “The Canticle of Victoria, three.”

Cassandra clears her throat, face angled towards the ground. “Now her hand is raised, a sword to pierce the sun. With an iron shield she defends the faithful. Let chaos be undone."

They all look down, collectively holding a moment of silence. Cassandra’s reciting of the Chant that was most likely their Herald’s last words wash a myriad of different emotions over them all - guilt, shame and regret being the most easily identifiable ones.

A chilling voice sounds behind them. _“Numb limbs and blinding pain. Cold, so cold - I think I will stop fighting here. I am sorry, everyone, for many sins I cannot be abstained from. I tried, I tried... I am tired...”_

They all bristle immediately, turning to where Cole’s voice came from. “Who-“

“Commander! Seeker!” A soldier shouts. “We think there’s someone out there!”

The two share a look before bolting across the snow.

* * *

Her eyelashes feel like they’re stuck to her face and her nose might as well have pins and needles. She’s been walking for so long she’s afraid that she got turned around.

Every time she wants to stop, a voice in her head encourages her to keep going. Sometimes Castelleta, sometimes Herah and sometimes Michalis.

But it’s been so long since she’s heard one of their voices, and she’s getting _so_ sleepy...

A wolf howls in the distance. She shudders but cannot bring herself to truly care, trudging painfully through the snow. Slowly, she slides to her knees, eyes closing. She can’t feel the pain from bending her broken leg.

Her vision and hearing go in and out.

“-found her!”

_“Thank the Maker!”_

That’s Cassandra’s voice! She tries to force her mouth to work, for sound to come out, but all that happens is a struggled whine. Her body no longer responds to her commands and will not move, not even when she is lifted off of the ground and into someone’s arms. Her limbs are grateful for the break, but her wounds...

The movement wrestles a pained cry from her lips, shrill and involuntary. The moving stops immediately and a soft shushing fills her ears, followed by a warm, fluffy fur being thrown over her. She hums and burrows into whoever’s arms she’s in happily. If she’s to die like this, then she’ll die warm and safe.

When she’s laid down on a cot, she’s finally able to force her lips to move and her eyelids to open.

“C-Cass,” her voice rasps, hoarse and grating. The woman turns, gasps, and  hurries to her side. She takes one of her cold hands in her two strong and warm ones. Subira grips as tightly as she can.

 _“Anita,”_ the woman breathes in relief, tears glittering in her eyes. “You’re _awake-“_

“Got to see you... Thank you,” she says without much coherency. Her vision goes darker to the sight of Cassandra becoming increasingly worried, hand going slack in her grip.


	30. Blood so Bold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treating Su's injuries, soft recovery moments between her and some of the inner circle.

She awakens again not much later, groaning and whimpering. Her eyes snapped open as they try to set her leg.

“Sh, sh,” Dorian brushes a hand over her head softly. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay...”

On her other side sits Solas, focusing most of the magic. Vivienne is there for emergency mana, intently watching as Solas helps the Healer reset her leg.

“Dorian,” she gasps between sobs, hot tears trailing down her cheeks and onto her neck. _“Hurts...”_

“I know, I know,” he soothes, somewhat frantic, brushing away tears with his thumb. “It’ll be okay...”

She can hear somewhere beyond the tent fast footsteps approaching and walking away repeatedly in fast motions. The movement stops when another pair of footsteps approach, and hushed conversation ensues.

_“-can’t do anything right now, Cassandra...”_

_“...aware, Leliana, but she’s in so much pain...”_

A pause, then quiet words. _“-must weather it. She can.”_

A frustrated grunt escapes the other woman. _“...should not have to.”_

Anything else they might be saying is cut off by her high pitched cry of pain when the bone is finally set. Her focus is cut off from anything else as it radiates from the leg to her waist and she groans. Dorian quickly thrusts a potion down her throat. It leaves her gasping and sputtering, sticking her tongue out at the disgusting bitter taste.

Outside the tent, she hears the conversation waver again, a scuffle in the snow briefly taking her attention.

“None of that now, young lady,” Vivienne says with the barest amusement. “We take our medicine like big girls.”

With an apologetic face, the field medic presses gentle fingers into her ribs. She squirms away.

“The healer has to look, da’len,” Solas says quietly, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Master Solas, she has two broken ribs,” the medic relays the worst. “If you can heal the internal damage, we can reset and wrap her chest, and then her body will do the rest.”

The man nods, a look of quiet determination on his face. The healer presses down on her ribs and Subira makes a startled noise, soothed immediately by the feeling of healing magic drifting over her.

As she drifts back into sleep, the healer lifts up her wrist, gently unwrapping the bandage and gasping softly. She notices that her shoulder is already bandaged firmly in place.

“By the Maker, what did that to her?” Dorian swears, looking at the deep gouge marks on her wrist.

She tugs weakly on the closest person’s sleeve - Solas. Cassandra has finally entered the tent, looking flushed and with a slight wetness on her cheeks. She approaches and kneels close to Solas, worry clear in her eyes.

He leans down. “Yes, da’len?”

What was it she wanted to say? Oh, right! With her last act of coherency, she forces the name out of her mouth:

_“...Corypheus...”_

With that small piece of important information shared, she allows herself to slip into a warm, dreamless sleep.

* * *

The next time she wakes, Josephine is by her side, one hand gently grasping hers. Leliana sits next to her - _though, probably more for Josephine than for her,_ she thinks grumpily - and shifts on her cot. Something must’ve changed on her face, because a hand brushes over her cheek gently.

“Anita? Are you awake, _Tesoro?”_

Her cheeks reddened. She’s too sleepy to reply, mouth only forming half-syllables and mumbles.

Josephine laughs shakily, wiping away a tear that made its way down her face - when did that happen? “That’s okay, _quierdo._ I’m just glad you’re here.”

The hand holding hers squeezes softly and she fights for consciousness, forcing her fingers to squeeze back.

Leliana leans over, brushing stray hairs from her cheeks. “We’re all glad you’re alive, Anita,” she says softly. “Rest up, _chére.”_

Subira feels a soft smile form before she falls asleep again.

* * *

The first time she wakes up without falling right back asleep, she notices Mother Giselle next to her. And then the pounding in her head sets in, exacerbated by the shouting near her tent. The soreness in her body makes her groan.

“Easy, easy,” the woman murmurs when she tries to sit up. “You did not attempt an easy task, you have earned your rest.”

Subira snorts. “So they’re arguing for fun, then?” Her voice is scratchy and hoarse.

Mother Giselle sighs. “They have the luxury to stand bickering amongst themselves because of you, child.”

“That doesn’t change that I am needed. Rest can come later,” Subira decides, immediately deciding differently when she moves upward too fast and falls downward with a gasp.

“You probably need the Healer, now that you are awake,” Mother Giselle remarks. “But I am reluctant to get her.”

Subira’s brow furrows. “Why?”

The Revered Mother sighs, looking to where the raised voices are coming from. “The longer they believe you rest, the longer you are abstained from their needless fretting.”

“Needless?” Her eyebrows fly into her hairline. “We have a... Oh, _Corypheus!”_

She’d nearly forgotten about him! Surprising, considering the guy is at least eight feet tall and smells like his body is decaying.

_She’s pretty certain he was decaying in some places, now that she thinks on it._

But there’s no time for that. She once again tries to sit up fully without thinking and this time a pained cry leaves her lips. Kind face pinched up in a frown, Mother Giselle firmly helps her lay back down. A layer of sweat coats her forehead and the older woman pats it dry with a cloth.

“You must be thirsty, child. Here,” she carefully slides a hand under Subira’s back to support her as she leans upwards again, just enough to reach the water. She helps her lay down, slowly as before.

“Can you bring them to me, please?” Subira asks once she’s positioned more comfortably.

Mother Giselle looks like she wants to protest, but nods her assent and leaves the tent in order to gather the arguing parties. All four voices hush at once and Subira smirks at the mental image - grown adults being chastised by one Revered Mother who couldn’t hurt a fly.

Moments later, Josephine’s relieved face comes into view. “Oh, Anita!” She exclaims, coming to kneel by her bedside. “It is so wonderful that you are awake.”

“Indeed,” The Commander says awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “We’re all more than glad you’re alive. And more than grateful for your sacrifice.”

She cocks her head innocently. _“What_ sacrifice? I didn’t die.”

The four of them exchange glances. “Oh, boy,” she mutters, rolling her eyes into her head. “Alright, _what_ news am I not going to like hearing this time?”

“It was widely believed you had died to give us time,” Leliana says cautiously.

She shrugs. “Yeah? I would’ve thought I was dead too. There were times when _I_ thought I was dead. So what?”

“The point is that people have watched you... in a sense, come back to life,” Josephine finishes for her friend.

Squinting, the teenager trails her eyes between the four of them, trying to figure out what she’s missing. And then it clicks.

“Oh, _Andraste’s flaming tits-“_ she swears, causing a deep blush to fall over both Josephine and Cullen’s faces. Cassandra can’t seem to muster up the will to scold her. Though, she could’ve sworn Varric has said something similar to that... _she’s going to kill that dwarf._

“We figured that would be about your thoughts on the matter,” Leliana says apologetically.

“I’ll tell you one thing: I definitely didn’t die tonight, and the one thing that is keeping me alive is _not_ the Maker. Do you want to know what it is?” She asks with a wry grin.

Leliana and Josephine exchange cautious glances. “What is it?” The Antivan asks.

_“Spite!”_

Cassandra chuckles, shaking her head. _“That_ is exactly something I would expect.”

Subira salutes. “Glad I can live up to expectations,”

Her smile fades when she remembers exactly who she was trudging on in spite of.

“Anita?” Josephine squeezes her hand once. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I just remembered...” she takes a deep breath. “I need to tell you what happened when I got separated from the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations  
> tesoro - dear/sweetheart  
> quierdo - ^ same deal  
> chere - dear


	31. The Dawn will Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dawn will Come. Subira has to come to terms with the fact that she's a holy figure now. Hint: she does not.

Slow, measured steps make their way towards her. When she looks up, her first thought is _run_. Nothing that tall, deformed and covered in red lyrium is friendly.

But she has nowhere to go. So she stares into the gnarled face of her aggressor, stubbornly refusing to look away. She shakes, teeth clattering together and body twitching when the dragon screeches behind her, it’s looming presence at her back.

The being stands beyond a ring of fire, holding an orb. “Pretender, you have toyed with forces beyond your ken long enough.”

Her eyes water, his voice grating against her ears and _terrifying._

“A shame, _halfling,”_ it snarls. “You could’ve been useful to me. And _then you interrupted_ a ritual years in the making!”

“Oh, sorry I interrupted your planned ritual,” she spits. “Seems I missed your fucking newsletter. Make sure I get that next time, alright?”

The being in front of her looks bored, almost mildly annoyed.

 _“Who_ are you, anyway? _What_ are you?”

The being laughs. “Mortals beg for truths they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, _Halfling._ Beyond what _I_ was.”

“What you _were?_ Alright, if this is some midlife crisis I don’t know how else to tell you that this _isn’t it-“_

Forcefully, he continues, stepping forward through the flames. “Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. _Exalt the Elder One; the will that is Corypheus!”_

He glares down at her. “You will _kneel.”_

She spits at his feet. “Die in the Void.”

Corypheus chuckles darkly. “Perhaps. But not today, _halfling.”_

“You haven’t asked for _anything,”_ she hisses desperately. “Don’t all villains follow like, a code? _‘Demand nefarious thing’_ is one of them?”

Corypheus grunts. “I ask for nothing because it is not within your power to give. But that will not stop me.

“I have come for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins _now.”_

The worst pain she’s ever been in flares to life in her palm and races up to her shoulder. She screams, falling to her knees and fisting the snow between her palms and green lightning sparks out of her hands. Corypheus scowls.

“It is your fault, _‘Herald’_. Instead of dying with your interruption, you stole its purpose.

“Your unique blood is the only reason you survived. What marks you as _‘touched’,_ what you flail at rifts, I crafted to _assault the very Heavens!”_

He curled his fingers and she screams until her lungs run out of air, panting and whimpering in pain and her hand clutched to her chest. Her stomach empties itself and she heaves until there’s nothing left to give, gasping and shuddering.

“And you use the Anchor to _undo my work!”_ He hisses, “The _gall!”_

She gasps through frightened tears, “I _never wanted this!_ I don’t even know what it _does!”_

“It is meant to bring certainty where this is none. For you, the certainty is that I will _always_ come for it.”

He presses closer, anger clear on his face. He yanks her up into the air, long nails pressing uncomfortably into her skin. Her shoulder feels like it’s being wrenched from its socket and recognizes the voice whining in pain as her own.

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another,” he says almost mournfully. “To see the old gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption!”

His grip tightens on her wrist and she struggles, whimpering at the strain. Any more and he’d tear it right off. “Dead whispers. A thousand years I was confused! No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my _own.”_

He brings his face very close to hers. His breath is terrible and a wave of nausea rises over her. “To champion withered Tevinter and right this blighted world. Beg that I succeed. For I have seen the throne of the gods...”

His voice becomes a harsh whisper, _“...And it was **empty.”**_

Suddenly she’s being launched into the trebuchet shoulder first and she cries out, her vision split in two as he draws nearer. Her hand continues to spark and flare.

“The Anchor is permanent,” he thunders, his dragon circling behind him. “You spoilt it with your _stumbling.”_

A sword lays discarded near her and she forces herself to move, lunging for it and hefting it in both hands.

“So be it. I will begin again, and find another way to give this world the nation - and _god_ \- it requires.”

Behind him, the signal fire is shot into the sky. Her heart sings with relief. Without breaking eye contact, she barely holds the sword up with one hand while the other slides into her satchel.

“And you,” he shakes his head, almost apologetically. “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You _must_ die.”

“No, Corypheus,” she says weakly. “You were arrogant when you breached the Fade the first time, and you’re arrogant now.”

She throws a bottle at his feet and lunges for the lever, sagging against the trebuchet when it fires. The sound of snow rumbling across the mountain is enough to jolt her into action, running painfully until she trips into a mineshaft and then...

_Dark._

* * *

The entire time she told the story, she rubbed her hand. It hasn’t acted up, but she is tense in wait of the horrible pain that he made her feel. Each of them wears a different level of concern on their face, ranging from teary to horrified to stony.

“And that’s what happened,” she sighs. “After that I woke up in tunnels underneath Haven, much like the ones you used I suppose. And then I was in the snow.”

Josephine clutches one of her hands between hers so tightly she’s afraid she’ll never let go. “It must’ve been so frightening,” the woman murmurs, and she blinks.

She hadn’t... _Really_ stopped to think about it. When it was happening it was the most frightening thing to ever happen to her, but now? She has other things to focus on, and breaking down to cry isn’t on her to-do list.

“I guess,” she shrugs, looking away.

Cassandra is quieter than normal. “I believe one person can help us.”

Subira tilts her head. “Who?”

“That would be me, Spitfire. Glad to see you’re still kicking,” Varric says from the front of the wide tent, a tired grin on his face. “The name Corypheus isn’t unfamiliar to me. But the story can wait until we’re somewhere more protected. You just worry about resting up.” He winks at her and gives a wave before disappearing, much to her confusion.

“Can you guys help me stand? We need to figure out a plan, and I’m sure you had all your stuff over there,” Subira shifts up onto her elbows, stifling her gasp but not the contorted face of pain.

Leliana is the one who steps in, her hand surprisingly gentle as she pushes her down. “We will do so in here, to let you rest.”

Subira nods and slowly settles back into the position she was in. They begin slowly talking over the options they have, but no matter how hard she tries to keep them open, her eyes slipping shut. Her breaths slow to whisps through her teeth and nose.

Josephine watches with affection for the young girl, softly rubbing circles on her hand as she nods off and tries to stay in the conversation. Cassandra would wait for her answers, slow to come and sudden when they did. Leliana was quiet and Cullen was patient. All were just grateful she was alive.

* * *

Mother Giselle is tending to her when she wakes up, once again to the sound of arguing nearby. She shakes her head.

The older woman shakes her head. “I believe it is time the people see their Herald,” she says gently, but firmly.

Swallowing, Subira nods. Barely able to get up on her own she leans heavily into the older woman, gasping and whimpering when they moved the wrong way. Mother Giselle is patient the whole way through, taking her time and trying to prevent pain to the young girl.

 _“-What would you have me tell them?! This isn’t what we asked them to do!”_ Cullen’s raised voice makes its way to her, and she flinches reflexively.

Mother Giselle shushes her and gives her a warm squeeze. “It is alright, child,” she says gently. “Tensions run high when the spirit is tested.”

 _“We cannot simply ignore this, we must find a way!”_ Cassandra’s voice is thicker with her frustration.

 _"And who put you in charge?"_ Cullen snaps, making Subira wish she could move a little faster because this is definitely not going anywhere good. _“We need a consensus or we have_ nothing!”

Josephine makes a wide gesture between them. _“Please, we must use reason,”_ she pleads with them both. _“Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re-“_

 _“It can’t come from nowhere!”_ Cullen interrupts.

 _“She didn’t say it could,”_ Leliana defends venomously.

 _“Enough!”_ Cassandra yells. _“This is getting us nowhere!”_

Subira startles backwards in Mother Giselle’s grip, nearly falling to the ground with her injuries and she groans.

Cullen scoffs. _“Well, we’re agreed on that much!”_

Mother Giselle rubs a warm hand on her back. “Maybe you should rest,” she says with concern. “You are shaking.”

Subira stops to focus. Her body is twitching and shaking, almost vibrating outwardly.

“Why are they doing this?” Subira whispers.

“We have time to doubt, and we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus.”

“It _won’t,”_ Subira says vehemently, the seriousness startling the Revered Mother. “I won’t let it.”

Mother Giselle smiles after a moment. “That is wonderful to hear,” she pauses, changing the subject. “I wonder if adding another heated voice to them will help...”

“Well-“ Subira starts.

“Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed,” Mother Giselle says with a knowing look in her eye. “We saw our defender stand - and fall. And now we have seen her return.”

Subira shakes her head. _“No,”_

 _“Yes,”_ Mother Giselle insists. “The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear. And the more our trials seem ordained.”

Subira has a discomfited look on her face. “That is hard to accept, no?” Mother Giselle asks rhetorically. “What we have been called to endure, what we perhaps must come to believe.”

“But I didn’t die, Mother Giselle,” Subira says stubbornly. “I escaped the avalanche _and_ Corypheus.”

The older woman shakes her head. “Of course, but the people know what they saw. Or perhaps what they needed to see - the Maker works both in the moment and how it is remembered. Can we truly know that the heavens are not with us?”

“Corypheus is a _physical_ threat,” Subira hisses as she pushes off of the older woman, batting off her concern. “Heavens with us or not, he is something that must be dealt with. Not whether or not I’m truly the Maker’s chosen.”

She walks to the others slowly, an arm wrapped around her side and limping. Josephine sits next to a fire with Leliana sitting by her feet and Cassandra anxiously taps her foot, holding onto a post. Cullen is stands, pouring over maps. Subira clears her throat, and each of them turn to look at her.

_“Anita-“_

_“Your Worship-“_

_“Herald-“_

_“What are you doing up?”_

All four try to talk to her at once and she stumbles under the force of their words. They almost visibly back off a little bit, realizing how overwhelming it was. Each seem lost and tired, worn out and weary from hours of arguing and no sleep.

A melodic voice begins to sing clearly.

_“Shadows fall, and hope has fled_

_Steel your heart, the dawn will come…”_

Cassandra turns to look at the approaching Revered Mother, her tormented expression relaxing slightly.

Leliana looks up from her arms next, head tilted.

_“The night is long, and the path is dark_

_Look to the sky, for one day soon_

_The dawn will come.”_

Josephine sits up fully now, a more hopeful look on her face as she stares at Subira and Mother Giselle.

Leliana begins the next verse. Her voice is light, carrying the notes clearly. Mother Giselle sings with her.

_“Shepherd’s lost_

_And his home is far...”_

By the rest of the line, many have joined, the last remaining of the Inquisition banding together tightly. Josephine, Cassandra, and even Varric are among them.

_“-Keep to the stars_

_The dawn will come…”_

Cullen looks deep in thought, downtrodden and lost. A light forms in his eyes as the Inquisition comes together.

_“The night is long...”_

He joins as well, now, his eyes closing.

_“...and the path is dark_

_Look to the sky, for one day soon_

_The dawn will come...”_

People slowly come around where Mother Giselle is subtly supporting her weight, falling to one knee before her. She tries not to panic at the hope she’s inspiring in these people.

_“Bare your blade, and raise it high_

_Stand your ground, the dawn will come.”_

Solas approaches from the side, watching the forces this young girl brought under her now bend their knee. He almost regrets that he must use her - but it is for a relative good. She is too valuable to let slip through his fingers.

Patiently he waits for her, only catching the last thing Mother Giselle says to Anita before leaving them:

“An army needs _more_ than an enemy. It needs a _cause.”_

He nods. A very wise woman, Mother Giselle. He holds a great deal of respect for her. His eyes follow her as she leaves, a contemplative look upon his face. He steps forward.

“I would heed her well,” he advises and then asks, “Do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” she says with a tired smile. “My tent?”

“Yes,” he frowns. “Do you need a potion? How do you feel physically?”

Slowly limping back to her tent with Solas cautiously in tow, she waves him off. “I’m fine, Solas. What was it you needed?”

“An army needs a base of operations. Luckily, I know just the place. Have your scouts go North of here - they will find a Castle...”

* * *

Due to her injuries, they carefully place and remove her atop her Ferelden Forder every day they travel. Her glum mood was obvious to anyone who could see her.

With her head placed atop her hand, she examines the same snowy mountains she’s been looking at for days now. And then the soft plucking of a lute begins.

Mary Den’s melodic voice is clear.  _“Find me still searching_

_For someone to lead me,”_

Subira looks back at her, and the woman has her eyes closed while gently strumming her instrument.

_“Can you guide me to the revolt inside me?_

_Promise surviving the Breach...”_

Subira clears her throat, looking to the sky.

_“Templar igniting fire inside me_

_Maker remind me_

_Gone are the days of our peace.”_

Cassandra looks up in surprise at the soft, deep singing that comes from atop the horse. Anita has never sung in their presence and has never said she liked to, either. Her voice is slightly grating from sickness and disuse, but it’s no less beautiful. Those around her stop to listen to her and Mary Den.

They sing together now,

_“now we reside in the great divide...”_

Mary Den looks up at the girl, changing the last lyric:

_“Promise surviving the Breach in the sky.”_

Subira smiles and repeats it, and the lutes soft music fades out as Mary Den strikes the last chord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just think Mary Den is neat. I was listening to the Soundtrack of the Tavern when I wrote that end piece... so, you know. There’s probably gonna be more of those every now and then, but not too often. Anyway enjoy the chapter! I’m literally approaching Adamant right now (im like, three quests in the Western Approach away) so that’s neat! I’ll tell Subira you guys said welcome back when she gets back. You know... probably not a good idea, knowing what happens there. She’s an aggressive child


	32. Believe in my Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira has lasting injuries from her fall at Haven. Her companions worry out of their minds and she really just wants to be able to do things.

They made an excruciating pace across the snowy mountains, and then in the distance she can see... something. She spurs her horse forward, grunting at the jostling of her wounds, but needing to know.

She comes to a ledge, and her breath is stolen. It’s there... in the flesh. The Fortress Solas told her about.

 _“Tarasyl'an Te'las._ Skyhold,” Solas says serenely from the ground next to her. Her brow furrows.

“The place where...” she mumbled to herself, trying to figure out the translation before looking to Solas with puppy eyes.

He sighs. “‘The place where the sky was held back.’”

“I like it,” she declares. “So uh, who’s abandoned castle is this? I really wouldn’t like Orlais or Ferelden deciding to claim ownership when we set up in there.”

Solas chuckles. “Do not worry about that, da’len. They cannot.”

A moment passes. Wind blows snow across the mountains and rustles past her ears.

He looks thoughtful. “It is awaiting a new master, Anita.”

His eyes are even and she shudders, passing it off as cold as she pulls her furs around her tightly. Cassandra stands on the right of her mount, a hand on his neck and looking at the Fortress in the distance.

“You surely mean someone like... Cassandra? Or Leliana?” She says nervously.

Solas gives her a level look. “You have been-“

She coughs, trying to hide it in her elbow. It goes on a bit longer than it should, and when it’s over she has trouble catching her breath. Her leg stings with the jostling and she grasps her knee.

Solas drops whatever he was going to say with a look from Cassandra, but he doesn’t seem to be too torn up about it. They give her worried looks, but she smiles and waves them off, finally beginning the last stretch of their journey to Skyhold.

* * *

Josephine is overjoyed to have a desk again, set up right where they have the War Room. The entire day was spent moving refugees here, supplies there, troops this way. It’s exhausting, but she can begin the tiring task of sending her diplomatic contacts a message. Many she wrote on the way - there was a lot of time to kill while journeying to Skyhold - and now only had a few left.

But... looking at her desk and then the door, she supposes it wouldn’t hurt to check in on Anita. And Leliana, too. _She cannot seclude herself in the first tower she finds,_ Josephine shakes her head.

The sun is setting now, she notes, walking out to the Courtyard. People are still moving, changing an abandoned fortress into a base. She spots Cassandra assisting Cullen’s soldiers over in the corner, and Leliana speaking quietly to an Agent off to the side.

Anita is walking through from the make-shift infirmary with Dorian, his arm slung across her shoulder, talking softly and squeezing every now and then. She has a hitch in her leg now - it’s very noticeable, but Solas says with time and healing it will become less, to the point where Anita will get used to it. Though, she’s incredibly frustrated by her limitations right now.

The girl looks sickly, smaller than she used to carry herself and still carries the furs around her shoulders. Cullen had walked by and dropped his mantle on her earlier in the day, gently ruffling her hair and a conspiratorial finger to his lips.

It was one of the first things to bring the start of a smile to the child’s face. Recently, she’s been withdrawn and lifeless, not even lashing out as she used to. Instead she doesn’t reply to bait, just shrugs it off. Neither Varric or Dorian can rib her into joking with them and Sera can’t even cheer her up.

Josephine’s heart aches. Anita is a troubled child who desperately needs love - in Josephine’s opinion at least - because it’s clear no one has ever shown her affection. Even the addition of _“Tesoro”_ or _“Quierdo”_ to a sentence makes her blush or completely shut down.

The girl coughs once, causing Dorian to pause with a frown. Anita smiles and waves it off, but as soon as she takes another step forward another cough leaves her body. It’s harder to stop that time, her chest raw and heaving, gasping breaths to get air into her lungs. Once again she convinces him to continue, managing to walk a longer distance but she suddenly doubles over, arms around her stomach.

She can’t stop and she’s lightheaded from the lack of air. Startled yells sound around her but her eyes are closed, tears escaping as she coughs. When she nearly falls headfirst she falls into arms instead, seeing the face of Dorian above her.

Josephine ran as fast as she could down the stairs without tripping on her skirts, stopping feet away from Anita. A hand comes up to cover her mouth and she feels tears coming to her eyes as the Seeker approaches, worry written on her face.

Anita then finally breathes some air into her lungs, pauses, and turns her head to throw up, gasping pitifully. Leliana’s voice carries on the wind, yelling for a healer. Rushed footsteps are all around her. Josephine has her face buried into Cassandra’s chest, eyes red rimmed.

Finally, it recedes. A healer pushes their way forward, slapping away hands and moving in closely, trying to listen to her ragged breaths.

The woman leans back and shakes her head with a grim expression.

 _“Well?_ What is it?” Dorian asks impatiently, but with concern. He’s heard of men bigger than Anita falling to injuries less than her own.

“It is as I feared,” the midwife sighs. “Pneumonia set in. Her lungs were full of fluid - blood, mostly, from the broken ribs. I was hoping we had gotten to her in time.”

Josephine sniffles. “She will be okay, though, yes? My eldest brother had pneumonia, once, and it was hard but he recovered-“

The midwife shakes her head. “It is not that easy,” she brushes a hand over Anita’s sweaty forehead. “She is younger, more fragile in the body. Her lungs cannot take what an adults lungs could take.”

“What can we do?” Leliana asks from beside Josephine

“Nothing, except what we have been doing,” she sighs. “Potions, rest, warmth. This is a fight she _must_ win herself. She will be incredibly weak afterwards, should her body be strong enough to fight this.”

Josephine gasps again and buries her face into Cassandra’s chestplate again. While uncomfortable, the older woman seems fine with wrapping one arm around her friend and staring in disdain at the sick child on the ground.

“Dorian,” Subira croaks. He leans down immediately.

“Can I have some water?”

“Of course, my dear,” he says gently. “My lady Seeker, do you have any water for our _Hero?”_

Cassandra smiles shakily and takes a canteen off of her hip, stepping forward. “Of course,”

She drinks thirstily, some spilling out on her cheeks and neck. Forgetting to breathe, she involuntarily takes a breath in and suddenly she’s curled on her side, coughing so hard her head hurts.

Josephine is crying again, muffled quietly in Leliana’s chest. Cassandra obscures her blurry view by kneeling in front of her, concern written on her face.

Anita tries to smile on a shaky breath but is caught by another fit, feeling something wet pass by her lips. Arms feeling like lead, she lifts a hand to her mouth and pulls it away.

_Blood._

Cassandra has come to the same conclusion, looking at the specks of red in the snow. She looks up into her face and her vision slides. Then it’s wet and cold underneath her head and the voices that are trying to get her attention blend together and sound like they’re underwater.

Her coughing fades into whimpers as her body involuntarily tries to make her cough, a spasm wracking her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the cliffhanger!!! thoughts?


	33. I Can See The Sudden Emptiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aunty Viv vibes and Subira Really Just Wants To Walk Around. Cole being wig.

She wakes in a large room with high ceilings and a large fire roaring in the fireplace. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognizes it as the room Josephine wants her to take, but doesn’t hold onto that thought for long. She’s laying on a mattress on the floor and the room is very plain. On pillows next to the mattress sit Varric and Sera, quietly playing cards together.

Sera notices her watching them first. She vaults on to her knees, and then suddenly slows down.

Cautiously, she comes closer. “‘Ey, pardner,” she says playfully. “How ya feelin? Must suck b-“

Varric punches her in the shoulder gently. Sera rolls her eyes. _“-Fine,_ must suck a lot that ya stuck up in this stuffy room, huh?”

Subira can only nod, too afraid of another fit. After a few moments, she decides to try and talk.

“I’m... feeling,” she said hoarsely, licking her lips before continuing, “like _nugshit.”_

Sera’s lips split in a wide smile before bursting into hilarious laughter. “‘Atta girl!”

Varric chuckles, patting Sera on the back as he comes closer, kneeling by her. “I gotta hand it to you, you must have the worst hand in life I’ve seen dealt.”

Subira snorts weakly. “This isn’t even... the half of it.”

He shakes his head. “I hope it is, Spitfire. I hope it is. You’re goin’ to get better, you hear?”

She nods with a small smile, shaking as she pushes herself into a sitting position, legs crossed. “Deal me in?”

“Always a place for you, kiddo. Ask and you shall receive.”

She thinks with a finger on her chin and a mischievous grin. “Does this mean I can finally shoot Bianca?”

He deals her in with a chuckle. “Bianca is a different story. Maybe one day.”

* * *

They confined her to bed rest for several days and she’s sure she went stir crazy in the interim. All she had were different books they gave her and she especially delighted on Vivienne’s classical instruction books - she steadfastly denied a tutor, insisting she can teach herself - pouring over them with hungry eyes. The Advisors would watch fondly from the doorway as she read, waiting for her to notice that she was needed.

The day she’s cleared to stand up and walk again is the day Vivienne comes to see her, right as she’s about to rush out of her quarters - though technically she was not supposed to leave the room - and the woman _almost_ looks amused.

The First Enchanter seems immune to the young girls growing restlessness, asking in a smooth tone, “My darling Herald, I heard through the grapevine that you were cleared to walk. Would you care to join me for a stroll?”

Subira eyes her warily and accepts the daintily offered arm. _Perhaps they wouldn't mind that she left if it was with one of her other companions._ She takes slow, measured steps on account of her short breath and sensitive leg, but Vivienne doesn’t seem to mind - simply content to have the child on her arm.

They arrive at Vivienne’s preferred - rather, _claimed_ \- area of the keep, a balcony overseeing it all. Subira leans on her own against the railing, still in awe that the Inquisition made it so far.

“Haven was completely indefensible as a base of operations,” Vivienne says when they’re both quiet.

Subira nods absently. “Was I supposed to do something about it? Leliana and Cassandra chose Haven, not me.”

The mage clucks her tongue. “You have more power than you think, Anita. Accepting others bad choices blindly is not a virtue.”

Subira crosses her arms, and Vivienne chuckles, turning to her. “I do not comment to slight you, my dear,” their eyes meet for a moment. “You left yourself vulnerable to an attack. It was merely a miscalculation, correct? I am sure you don’t plan on repeating it.”

Flashes of Haven appear before her and she nods mutely.

Vivienne smiles softly before continuing seriously, “You must recognize that the enemy struck a huge blow against the Inquisition?”

She nods. Her body is proof of that, and the recovery she has ahead of her. As it was she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to properly pull a bowstring back again.

“It would be foolish to say that I don’t need guidance, Vivienne,” Subira admits shyly. “I am not used to the spotlight. Haven was, as you said, a miscalculation. But everything else...”

“Do not worry, my darling,” Vivienne replies brightly, patting her on the head before clearing her throat and offering her arm again, clearly intending to escort her back to her room. “I am here to help.”

* * *

She knew that, eventually, everyone would have to disperse. The constant watch to ensure she was eating and drinking the correct amounts and getting just enough physical activity couldn’t be kept up while Skyhold was in repairs. There were so many things to do - there wasn’t time to keep monitoring her, and she eagerly waited for when they would stop watching.

As soon as Josephine smiled and left her room with a kiss pressed to the top of her head, Subira closed her study book on the theorem of arithmetic expression and prepared herself.

She does her hair tightly in a braid and pins it up in a bun. She ties a piece of cloth around the lower half of her head, followed by a headwrap. It may seem like overkill, but it’s mostly in case she starts coughing and so no one recognizes her.

No one looks twice at an Agent wearing a hood in the halls, but she pulls it down over her eyes anyway. Confident no one will recognize her when she reaches the make-shift infirmary, she pulls it back.

A nearby field nurse hears her approach and looks up, asking for what she can do and then she looks up a second time.

“Why d’ya got that on ya face?” The nurse asks skeptically, again looking her up and down.

She pulls it down just enough to say, “I have a terrible cough, ma’am, and wouldn’t want to get anyone sick.”

With a stare and then a huff, the field nurse directs her on where to go and gets to work immediately. It feels good to heal again and something in her surges to the surface but she refrains from using too much, no matter how her skin tingles and aches with power, the things she knows she can do to help, to heal and to repair-

Dalish and Stitches are set up assisting the Inquisition medics. Neither of them seem to notice her and she ducks her head to stay out of their line of sight. It wouldn’t do if either of them saw her using magic to heal and figured out who it was.

Raised voices reach her ears and she tilts her head, helping the patient she’s treating lay down carefully. Standing up and walking around the corner, she notices Solas and Vivienne facing off. Cassandra, off to the side, says something every now and then but is very clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

Looking between the wounded and her companions, she has probably a few seconds before they notice her staring. Demurely, she hangs her head, pulling the mask down as she approaches. Vivienne and Cassandra both give her a reproachful look when they spot her.

Solas pauses in his argument, a deep disapproving look set on his face. “Should you not be resting?”

“I should,” she agrees easily, folding her arms. “Now, what is this about?”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Vivienne sniffs with an air of nonchalance. “Simply a disagreement on the nature of a demon.”

Solas’ face becomes thunderous, clearly not happy with Vivienne’s use of _‘demon’_ and opens his mouth to retort but is interrupted by Subira’s tired look and he settles on huffing, looking much like a bird preening ruffled feathers.

“It is not simply a disagreement, nor is it about a demon. Cole is an entirely unique case,” Solas elaborates with piercing eyes.

A silence spreads between them as she tiredly considers her options to unsettle as little of her companions as she can.

“We had wondered if the boy was perhaps... a mage, considering his unique abilities,” Cassandra supplies through the silence hesitantly.

Subira sighs, rubbing a hand across her forehead, thinking of how to word it without giving away that she’s going to let Cole stay regardless.

“Okay,” she says slowly, “Cole hasn’t been a problem. But, as I am...” She winces on the lie, “...not _familiar_... with such things, I need both of you to help me make a decision.”

Solas takes a deep breath. “It seems Cole is a spirit, pushed through the Veil when the Breach was formed. He can cause people to forget him, or not notice him entirely.”

She nods slowly. She had also noticed his abilities, it wasn’t difficult. “I see. A spirit of what, exactly?”

Solas replies with a slight furrow in his brow, contemplative rather than confused, “It is rather complicated. After consulting friends in the Fade, I was told he is most like a Spirit of Compassion.”

“Friends in the Fade,” Vivienne sneers haughtily, _“Demons,_ you mean?”

The elvhen man seems very close to strangling the Circle Mage, straightening his posture. Maker, she forgot just how tall he really is compared to most elves she knows.

He retorts scathingly, “They are spirits uncorrupted by intent or impression. It could be said that every being has the ability to be violent or passive. Your Circles were frighteningly lacking in their studies and _you,_ Madame,” he says the title cooly, calmly, “are frighteningly _ignorant_ as a result. Herald, I implore you, speak with Cole yourself.”

Everyone in the vicinity can feel the power radiating off of the proud elf. Vivienne sniffs, her upper lip quivering when she goes to speak. “I find your opinion on the Circles horribly uninformed for someone who was not in one.”

Solas smiles with the side of his lips, but his eyes are hard. “A weak argument.”

Vivienne scoffs. “Regardless, the Inquisitor did not come here to see us face off. I believe this ‘Cole’ could become corrupted. My dear, it would only hurt you if we had to cut him down for your safety.”

Subira frowns, rubbing the back of her neck uncomfortably under the Enchanter’s affection. “But, Vivienne, he saved us. He was the one who got Chancellor Roderick to give us the path out, who warned us-“

“And what tricks does he hide?” Vivienne hissed venomously.

Cassandra reluctantly agrees, nodding. “Madame de Fer may be right, Herald-“

The girl stubbornly stands her ground, nodding at Solas. “No. Your fear of him is unfounded when all he’s done is help. Solas is right; I’m going to go talk to Cole.”

The other woman does not look insanely pleased with the lessons she gave her on the power she holds working against her, but walks away with her head held high, cold eyes glaring daggers into the elvhen apostate for as long as she can see him. Solas backs up to speak with Cassandra.

Cassandra is watching her intently. Subira turns to approach Cole before she can say anything else.

_“Choking fear, can't think from the medicine. The cuts wrack me with every heartbeat. Hot, white pain-“_

“Cole,” she interrupts, suppressing a shudder. “Are you... feeling their pain?”

“Yes,” he answers simply, staring downward. “I want to help. I can make them forget.”

In the background, Cassandra turns to Solas. “Speak plainly, Solas, what are we dealing with?”

The man sighs, watching Cole with a calculating eye. “Demons, in their natural form, must possess something to cross the veil. They look hideous and grotesque as a result,” Cassandra motions for him to continue. “But I can sense no possession from Cole because he has not been possessed - that is his body.”

Cassandra’s face twists into an uncomfortable frown. “So he simply... _exists?”_

“It would appear so,” Solas hums, unworried. “He is not malicious, Seeker. His only purpose is to seek out those who need his assistance.”

She eyes him warily. “How do you know?”

He doesn’t flinch under her scrutiny, simply sniffing. “I am well versed in manners of the Fade, considering my travels. I have spent an extensive amount of time researching spirits. Rest assured, Cole will not bring harm to the Herald.”

Cassandra hums, but does not reply. He takes this moment to excuse himself as Subira makes her way back over.

She nods to Solas’ retreating back, “What was that about?”

“Nothing, Anita,” the woman replies with a casual air of pleasant, but uncomfortable, indifference. “Simply inquiring about Cole, here.”

Cole, who was in front of them, has vanished. He’s tending to the wounded privately.

“He’ll be fine, Cass,” Subira sighs, going to walk up the stairs. “Solas is right. We can review it with the Grand Enchanter, if you wish... Though, Vivienne would be _most_ unhappy if I did that.”

The Seeker rushes to her side. “I’m fine!” She swats the older woman’s hands away when she tries to offer her arm. “I can do this. I’m recovering, not an old lady.”

The Seeker raises an eyebrow and stays close instead, replying, “Isn’t Madame de Fer already unhappy?”

With a suddenly somber look, Subira shakes her head. “She just doesn’t understand.”

At Cassandra’s questioning look she elaborates. “She has spent her entire life hating herself because it was the easiest way to survive. And now that means she believes people like Cole, who in their nature cannot hurt, are dangerous by default.”

The other woman is stunned by the girl’s sudden candor and has no idea what to say, but she’s glad when the girl speaks again.

“It’s sad, more than it could ever make me angry or upset,” she adds thoughtfully. “I wish she could see that things aren’t as awful as she thinks they are. It makes me very sad. I think she might be sad, too.”

They say nothing on the continuing ascent, both with too many thoughts and Subira trying to focus on her breathing. When they finally make it to the main courtyard, she’s out of breath.

“I’m going to head to my rooms,” she informs Cassandra, and then pulls a scroll out of her pocket. “Please, can you have someone deliver this to our Spymaster? I don’t think I can do the trip to the Rookery today.”

She marches - or, limps - off with as much dignity as she can muster, muttering about Spymasters and secluded towers full of annoying stairs. Cassandra smiles after her, letter in hand and now on her way to see Leliana.

* * *

“Leliana?” Cassandra’s voice calls out into the empty rookery. Typically, she would simply wait for the Spymaster to show her face, but Anita had expressly asked to deliver this to their Spymaster and it gives them a moment to speak.

“Ah, Cassandra,” Leliana emerges from some side entrance, a cat-like grin on her face. “My favorite Seeker.”

Cassandra fights a blush, knowing Leliana is toying with her and clears her throat. “An - The Herald has a message for you.”

A neatly sculpted brow raises. “Oh?”

The Seeker hands it over and Leliana scans it quickly, turning it over in her hands. “Odd...”

Cassandra frowns. “Is something wrong?”

“No, but she has asked for a private audience in her chambers,” Leliana murmurs.

The other woman nods with a sympathetic look. “Well, whatever she needs, best not to keep her waiting. Her temper has been-“

Leliana cuts in with a wince. “-horribly short lately, I know.”

Approaching the stairs, Cassandra lingers. Leliana looks up to see apprehension sparkling in her eyes.

“Is there something else?”

The woman sighs, her shoulders slumping. “You know what we must do, and soon.”

Blue eyes turn towards the window, lips now turned down in a frown. “I know,” is all she says in reply.

“Guilt,” the whispy voice that has echoed Skyholds hallways since they began renovations intones softly, “Deep and clashing, _I wish there were another way-“_

They pivot to where the haunter of Skyhold sits on the rookery table. “Cole,” Leliana says sternly, her eyes sharp.

He looks up with milky eyes. “Your hurt is loud. Both of you,” he clarifies and they look in opposite directions. “feel guilt for what you feel you must do, how you must proceed. She wishes to forget, but it can’t be so - the memories have already been claimed,” he murmurs.

Cassandra tilts her head, but when she blinks, Cole is gone. She sighs, exiting the rookery with a grim exchange of looks with her long-time colleague.

Leliana sits at her desk and thinks deeply about what Cole said even as the words fade from her mind.


	34. They Haven’t Seen Me Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira continues to struggle under the weight of the Inquisition. Solas and Cole try to help. The Chargers love Anita.

The Spymaster arrives early, of course. It seems that regardless of how Leliana attempts to unsettle her to see who their Herald really is, the girl is always prepared. Always that smart _glint_ in her eye.

She finds Anita sitting in front of the fire, half leaning off of the settee and her hand outstretched towards the fire almost magnetically.

“Is it not warm enough in here?” Leliana quips as she steps through the door.

The girl startles, wrapping her furs tightly around her and retreating back to her spot on the cushions. “No, it’s fine,” she replies, straightening a bit. “I wanted to talk to you about the casualties from Haven.”

Leliana’s face doesn’t change. “Who told you we totaled them?”

“I heard you and the Commander discussing it the other day,” Anita replies casually, once again adjusting on the settee and crossing her legs.

The fur wrapped around her shoulders and the flames reflecting against her skin make a powerful image.

Leliana shakes her head. “It is not for you to worry about, Your Worship-“

“Don’t start with me, Spymaster,” the teenager says tiredly. Slumped on the settee with her furs wrapped around her, the image changes. She looks beyond exhausted.

The Spymaster merely nods. “We did not lose nearly as many as we anticipated, but still... too many. If only I hadn’t pulled my agents back, then perhaps...”

 _“No,”_ she suddenly chokes out, and Leliana fears she’s going to have a coughing fit. But when she looks closer, it seems she’s holding back tears. “It wasn’t your fault for wanting to protect them.”

Without thinking, Leliana argues back, “But they know the risks!”

_Is she arguing with the girl or herself?_

“They are _not_ expendable!” Anita’s voice raises, fire light making her eyes look like raw crystals of viridium. “Every member of the Inquisition is a person with feelings. We are fighting together, and that means we do not use and discard our agents.”

Leliana barely inclines her head, thinking back to when she spared Butler for the girl’s benefit. “Was there anything else, Your Worship?”

Anita scowls. “No, Spy - _Leliana.”_ The front of power leaves the girl in one almost physical wave, curled up on the settee in exhaustion. “That would be all.”

Leliana leaves without another word, thinking about how the fire lowered itself when the energy drained from Anita. When she looks back, she holds her head in one hand and the marked one clenches the wolf fur tightly.

Cole appears on the bannister next to her as she passes and she increases her pace, walking with all the intent to ignore him, but she remembers his melancholy words behind her:

_“The elements call her home, so close but so far. She is tired.”_

* * *

She lays on her back on the training grounds, coarse dirt sticking to her sweaty arms uncomfortably and the sun beating down on her face. She groans.

“Again!” Cullen calls, and she growls in frustration, her breath coming in short pants.

“I’m never going to be able to fight like I used to,” she hisses, rolling to a kneeling position and stabbing one of her short-swords in the ground.

“Not with that attitude you won’t,” he scoffs. “Come on, we have a little bit left. I know you can do it.”

When she looks up she sees unwavering confidence in his eyes. It gives her the strength to force her wobbling knee to stand and hold her weight, to ready her blades and calculate her next move.

And then Cullen calls, _“Now!”_ and she takes off, teeth gritted and flitting behind the Commander. He turns to block her but she slips under his guard and slams her elbow into his sword hand and he grimaces. While he repositions his sword she uses the opening to use the pommel of her weapon to disarm him, breathing heavily and crossing her swords over his neck with a grin.

He mirrors her grin. _“Fantastic,_ Anita! You did amazing!”

She retreats and they shake hands firmly, ‘the first rule of swordsmanship’, Cullen had said. Turning to get water from the bucket they keep for training, she notices some of her companions watching. Blackwall gives her a thumbs up and Sera smiles before blowing a raspberry.

She rolls her eyes. _Typical Sera._

When she turns back, Cassandra is standing by the Commander. “Anita, well done,” the woman says warmly, pride radiating from her.

“Thank you,” she replies happily, even as she feels Cole’s presence behind her. The scene wavers slightly, but doesn’t change.

 _“It’s not real,”_ he says sadly, mirroring her thoughts. _“I wish they would see how hard I try. Why don’t you see me?”_

“Cole,” she hangs her head. “I know.”

“Why do you feel that way?” He asks softly, his head tilted to the side. “They are proud.”

The scene changes to Cassandra watching with fond eyes as Subira makes a mistake before correcting her stance gruffly, hiding her softness behind a firm hand.

“You miss all the _right_ parts,” he adds. A scene appears of Leliana, leaning on one of her many ‘perches’ now available throughout Skyhold. She smiles as Subira hits a bullseye on a target for the first time after her shoulder injury.

Angrily, she forces the images away and they disappear into mist. “It isn’t _like that,_ Cole. They only - _they don’t care._ I’m a tool, a weapon! They don’t even think I’m _capable.”_

The spirit-turned-boy frowns under his hat. “They all care for you in their own way. Afraid to get attached, afraid to lose you, afraid to lose hope-“

 _“Damn them and their fears,”_ she roars suddenly, lightning crackling from her fingers and eyes swirling. The spirit immediately takes a step back and disappears in a swirl of icy wind.

She kneels on the ground and screams for all she’s worth, lightning becoming brighter and brighter until it’s all she can hear and see.

Vaguely she feels a pair of cold, grounding hands tugging on her own that clench into themselves and saying over and over, “stop, _da’len,_ stop.”

When she calms down, the only thing left in the fade is the smell of ozone and burnt ashes. She now notices Solas, holding her shaking, smoking hands in his and looking down at her with cool, worried eyes.

“What are you doing here?” She scrambles back, embarrassed.

“Cole came to me”, he says firmly, but gently. “And it is a good thing he did. Your emotions were out of control, and could have attracted spirits with bad intent.”

She shudders, breathing deeply. “I apologize for the disruption,” she said quietly. “I need to wake up anyway. We can talk later.”

“Wait, _da’len-“_ he tries, but she leaves the fade and snaps back into reality, her eyes blinking open as awareness flows into her like a slow tide.

Looking out past her balcony, she realizes she slept pretty late into the afternoon. Her naps were getting very intense now that she sleeps less and less at night, too restless to get a full night of rest. Often they were full of nightmares and she will wander the fortress until one of their ever vigilant agents - but of course, never the Spymaster herself, because she can’t be dragged away from her work - will herd her back to bed, or Josephine catches her.

The last one only happens when the Ambassador is also up late finishing last minute work and Subira happens to stumble upon her and the older woman disapprovingly encourages her to go back to her room.

With a sigh, she sits up and stretches. Might as well join the Chargers in the Tavern before she’s dragged to the War Council. That’s all they want her here for anyway.

The Chargers and Anita have gotten familiar over the past several weeks they’ve settled at Skyhold during her extended recovery. They call her ‘Ana’ now, a sweet nickname from Krem that caught on with everyone else as if it was carried on the wind, seeds of the girl planting themselves in the mercenaries hearts.

Bull lifts her onto his shoulders whenever she enters the Herald’s Rest. She thinks it’s kind of dumb that she can’t drink at a place named for her, but too many people take away the liquor she does manage to steal. They play cards, laugh, and chase each other around.

Their barkeep, Cabot, just shakes his head at their antics. The Chargers will sit outside with her and watch the stars at night. Sometimes, Sera joins. Sometimes, Cole joins. They give her a sense of peace she hasn’t had since she joined the Inquisition.

She can tell Cassandra worries about her hanging around them, that both Josephine and Vivienne agonize over her etiquette after a particularly rowdy night and that Solas believes she should focus on her studies more than late nights with the Chargers.

All of this and she can’t bring herself to care too much - the Chargers don’t treat her like the Herald of Andraste. They treat her like a nearly sixteen year old girl who hungers for information and nourishment. But more than that she hungers for _freedom._

There’s no freedom to be found in the missions she must go on for the Inquisition, and nothing she won’t already know that she will find: Death and destruction where they will bring hope, corruption where they will bring light. The Chargers give her a chance to pretend she’s somewhere else; a kid taken in by a group of rowdy mercenaries who have good hearts.

Dalish once quietly took her aside along with Krem, sneaking through the dark of Skyhold. They all know the guard rotations by heart, making it all the easier to sneak into a small clearing right outside of the fortress. Subira remembers every word they said to her very clearly:

_Dalish looked left and right, holding up a hand to Krem. He nodded, looking down at Subira. Then Dalish went off into the night, slipping through the trees. The very soft crunching of leaves could be heard until it disappears. Subira looks at Krem in question, and he shakes his head, pressing a finger to his lips._

_She nods, nervously tapping her foot. Minutes later, Dalish emerges again, nodding to Krem and dusting off her hands. “All set. We were not followed. Just in case, though, I set up traps.”_

_Subira raises an eyebrow. “You mean wards?” Krem and Dalish exchange a look. “Your ‘bow’” she airquotes with a grin, “is very impressive. But you can’t fool me. Also, I spied on you guys once.”_

_Krem smiles. “Can’t hide anything from you, can we?”_

_She shakes her head. “Anyway, what’s with all the secrecy?”_

_Dalish clears her throat, crouching in front of Subira. “Ana, this is very important. You must listen carefully and not speak a word of this to anyone. Following?”_

_At the girls nod, she continues. “When this Inquisition no doubt has political ramifications, the Chargers don’t want it to fall on you. We want to take you with us.”_

_Her mouth opens and closes, throat suddenly dry. Her eyes prick at the edges. The only thing she gets out is, “why?”_

_Krem shakes his head, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We care about you. You grew on us.”_

_Dalish nods solemnly. “You did. And we will not have this Inquisition kill you. So when you tell us,” she places her hand on Subira’s other shoulder and squeezes, “we will take you away from here. If you can’t do this, if it’s too much, just say the word.”_

_Close to crying and her throat dry at the idea of freedom, she croaks, “what about the Inquisition?”_

_Krem gives his friend a warning look and Dalish snorts, plowing through anyway. “The Inquisition? Fuck the Inquisition. Let the shems fix the world they let go to the Void,” at Subira’s head tilt, she continues, “Sure, the Breach? Not them. But let the countries battle it out amidst the chaos of Corypheus and fix their own damn problems. The Chantry? Not yours to fix. The mages? Not yours to fix. None of this is your responsibility, Ana.”_

_Tears finally roll down her face and she can’t help it, sniffling and quickly rubbing her face. “I’m sorry,” she hiccups. “I just really don’t want to be here. I never did.”_

_Dalish seems to get it and pulls the girl into a tight embrace. Subira finds herself leaning into it, clutching her shoulder and crying. “I can’t leave yet,” she sniffles. “I have to try and fix things. But if I need to get away... I’ll tell you. Thank you. Thank you.”_

_Krem ruffles her hair with a soft smile. “Anything for you, kiddo. The Chargers are behind you.”_

_She sniffs again, wiping her face as she pulls back from Dalish. “But what about Bull? Does he know?”_

_The two Chargers share a look and Krem answers easily, “Chief will have to make a choice when it comes to that. But it won’t. I know he’ll choose us.”_

_She tilts her head. “Us?”_

_He grins. “The Chargers, Ana. You’re one of us now, don’t you know? But let’s hold off on saying that,” he suggests, thinking with a shudder of all the ways the Seneschal could string him up from Skyhold for recruiting the Herald of Andraste into a mercenary company._

_In her mind, Subira thinks of the joy of being unconditionally accepted and the prospect of introducing Michalis and Castelleta to the Chargers... perhaps Herah would be a little nervous, considering the Iron Bull, but everyone could be happy. Everyone could be happy._

_“Sounds like a plan,” she smiles softly. “Let’s get back before Leliana’s agents notice I’m gone. I don’t want her to string me up.”_

That night was one of the first that she felt hopeful for herself. Not for the fate of Thedas or an injured patient, but for her own future. It made going on easier.

She spends tonight’s night hours with Bull, Sera and Dorian at the Heralds Rest, laughing and telling ridiculous stories. Vaguely she remembers her head lolling against Bull’s arm, and then being carried to bed. Dorian followed closely behind, she remembers.

She thinks that they might have argued about how to tuck her in and that Dorian may have tucked her hair behind her ears and head, but she isn’t sure.

Now, they’re finally leaving Skyhold for their first mission since Haven. Cole is accompanying them, this time, having asked to be able to help. Meanwhile, she deploys the Chargers back to Haven to see what can be found. In case there are salvageable things or perhaps survivors.

_(She wasn’t holding out hope on that one though.)_

All in all, things are looking fairly good for an Inquisition basically being run by a teenager. She adjourns the meeting with a tired smile, ready to go grab her things and ride to the Hinterlands. From there they will not return to Skyhold for at least a month and a half - they are going right back to the Storm Coast, and from there to the Fallow Mire to investigate missing troops.

Those accompanying her are Solas, Cassandra and Cole. Varric had wanted to come, but said something about some contact he had to write or... something. She wasn’t really listening at that point. Dorian also wanted to join, but he ended up lending his service to the Chargers on their mission back to Haven and couldn’t.

(Dorian and Bull gave each other what Varric described as “bedroom eyes” and she still doesn’t understand when _that_ happened. Or if it’s happening at all and they’re just constantly trying to one up each other, but _she_ isn’t going to ask.)

Vivienne did not offer her help, instead using her political clout and contacts to help Josephine in the corners that even she couldn’t reach. It was clear that the woman wanted to help oversee the keep while these reconstructions and key partnerships begin. Truthfully, Subira is pretty sure she didn’t want to muck around in the Fallow Mire in her Val Royeaux robes.

Skyhold was a bustling area of activity and part of her couldn’t wait to see it when she got back from her trip.

Descending the final few steps to the training yard, she notices Sera pacing agitatedly. “Oh boy,” she mutters under her breath. She prepares herself for a shitshow.

“Sera,” she calls out when she’s a few feet away, “Is everything okay?”

 _“Okay?”_ Sera asks incredulously, pivoting on her heel. “You know that war we talked about stoppin’, yeah? Stick some arrows in the dicks of nobles who get too big for their pants? That’s not a friggin’ archdemon, is it?”

Subira blinks, slowly formulating her response. “To be fair, I also did not expect the archdemon. Corypheus was a surprise, to say the least.”

“A _surprise?”_ Sera exclaims. “No, a surprise would be, ‘Oh, I stepped in dog shite!’ No one says, ‘Oh, a magister god-monster! I’m surprised’. Impossible things aren’t surprising!”

“Okay, Sera,” she says tiredly. “I get it, but if you don’t tell me what’s wrong I can’t help.”

Sera guffaws. “Well it’s got to be nonsense, doesn’t it? We’re kind of _screwed_ if it isn’t. I mean, that Coryphee-thing - _magister,_ right? Story is he cracked the Golden City. But that’s a hazy dream. If not - seat of the Maker? _Real thing._ So the Maker? _Real thing._ Fairy stories about our end of the world? _Real things!_ It’s too much, innit?”

Subira opens her mouth to reply, but the elf cuts her off. “And you’re just... so bloody _weird_ about it! Not _weird,_ but _normal-weird!_ You just act like everything is normal and the world isn’t on the edge of _ending!”_

The overwhelming adult gives her pause, and she takes a deep breath. “Sera,” she finds a way to speak each word with patience, “I _know_ that. But if I stop to freak out and cry about the fact that I nearly _died to that thing,_ that he held me eight-feet above the ground _by my wrist_ and _monologued into my face,_ then everything we’ve fought for falls apart.”

Sera looks into the teenagers face, takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “Well, fuck,” she laughs darkly. “You really are a kid. _Fuck._ I keep forgettin’ we’ve put Thedas’ problems on the shoulders of a teenager.”

The elf comes closer and ruffles her hair gently, “Look at us, treating you like you’re some... _Second-Andraste._ You’re a kid, not our saint. Hell, you ain’t a leader.”

“It’s alright, Sera, really,” Subira replies in confusion, wondering how this went from trying to comfort Sera to the elf comforting her.

“It isn’t bloody alright!” Sera insists, pacing as she rants now. “You know what? I’m goin’ to talk to them proper. Ladies Fancypants, Stabby-Stab and Iron-Breeches need to-“

 _“No,_ absolutely not!” Subira says sternly. “They have enough to worry about. I barely have any responsibility, anyway.”

“Is that what _they_ want you to think, or what _you_ want them to think?” Sera asks challengingly, straw hair falling into her eyes.

A small smile, cunning smile quirks at the edge of Subira’s lips. “You tell me.”

“Ugh, right, don’t give me any of that shite!” Sera groans, rolling her eyes.

In the distance, she hears loud voices and the sound of horse hooves picking up. “Sera, I have to get going, we’re-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sera blows a raspberry at her and waving her arms. “Go on now and save the world. I’ll be here with my bees.”

“Okay, Sera,” she smiles and turns to go, but the hitch in her leg makes her trip and she scowls. “Fuck this damned leg.”

Sera cackles behind her. _“Oi,_ watch the language, _squirt!”_

“Watch who you call squirt! You’re almost shorter than me!”


	35. Look On the Brightside (of the moon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi-ho, hi-ho, to the Hinterlands we go... Oh, and more Subira backstory.

The return to the Hinterlands is not nearly as exciting as it could’ve been, nothing to write home about - not that she could write home - but she supposed that with them putting an end to the Mage-Templar War could slow things down there.

The group went, under Solas’ direction, to inspect an elvhen relic - which they did not allow her to join them for, because of the stairs involved and how it could be ‘potentially dangerous if they got stuck in there’. She hadn’t even bothered with that argument, simply sat down with a huff and prepared to wait.

A Dalish elf who had also come to inspect the relic seemed at odds with Solas, but she couldn’t figure out why. Somewhere in the back of her mind she takes a deep interest in Solas’ dislike of the Dalish, a keen sense of wrong that spirals outward and makes her vaguely uncomfortable.

Eventually, covered in mild cave-dew and looking no worse for wear, they emerge and were successful, according to Solas. She knew, of course - as soon as the Veil was adjusted she felt something shift or click.

About a week into being back into the Hinterlands, Varric shows up, looking sheepish. “Seeker,” he calls. “Got a minute?”

The woman grunts and approaches, arms crossed. “Yes, Varric?”

He scratches the back of his neck, releasing a nervous breath. “Well, you see, there’s an old... _contact_ of mine. They need some help securing red lyrium-“

Cassandra’s expression closes off, eyes narrowing at Varric. _“What?”_

“My contact needs help keeping it out of Orzammar, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he grins weakly. “There’s a dwarven thaig entrance not too far from here. I think we need to go.”

Cassandra sighs, already planning the extra days in their course of travel. “Of course, you are right. Red lyrium cannot be allowed to pass through Orzammar unchecked.”

Cole’s head tilts at Varric, remarking mournfully, “Cunning smiles and quick goodbyes. She will never stay, will she?”

The dwarf looks away and Cassandra peers at him curiously, brow furrowed.

“Alright, saddle up then!” Anita calls suddenly, startling both adults. Neither had realized she was listening.

Cole does ride a horse, but the spirit doesn’t seem to understand why. He mounts with little difficulty, however, and waits patiently next to Solas, who hums. “Where is our destination?”

Varric remounts his pony as Cassandra and Anita mount their horses. “A dwarven thaig.” He takes a deep breath, patting his crossbow habitually (and a bit out of comfort).

_Here I come, Bianca._

* * *

Varric is very tense the night before they reach the thaig. Subira doesn’t avoid him, per say, but she also doesn’t want to risk making things worse on accident. Instead, Solas joins her while she makes her way through the brush under the moons that night, silently assessing her, it seems, before clearing his throat.

“Herald,” he greets her formally and she makes a displeased noise as she always does under the title. “May I have a moment of your time?”

She buckles down with a grimace, keeping her gaze straight. “If it’s about the other night-“

“You hold an incredible amount of despair in you. Fear, as well. Yet you have not drawn unwanted attention in the Fade or become possessed,” he says calmly, one hand on his staff, the other behind his back.

At this, she shrugs, and he continues, “your fortitude is admirable, _da’len._ Just remember, if you ever...” he clears his throat, moving his attention to the sky, “require anything, you know where to find me. Perhaps you can provide inspiration for or add to my mural.”

He looks back down when he finishes speaking to find her looking at him with a mildly curious expression but also more: Gratefulness mixed with an unidentifiable emotion swim in her eyes for a moment before she shutters them out, blinking casually and turning her gaze away.

“Thank you, Solas,” she smiles as genuinely as possible. “It means a lot.”

Somehow, he leaves feeling more disconcerted.

* * *

In terms of days, this one wasn’t going spectacularly. Things had progressively grown sketchier as they descended into the cavern of the thaig and while thoroughly scared and annoyed, she wasn’t surprised to find out Bianca had struck an agreement that allowed her to study red lyrium.

“Are you kidding me?” She finds herself asking Bianca through clenched teeth, uncaring that this woman could kill her in a heartbeat. “Are you _insane?_ You made a deal with them so that you can study-“

Varric gently pulls back on her arm. “Hey, hey, Spitfire, let's ease off a little...”

She shrugs off his grip, turning to him now. Bianca watches through a critical eye. “No, Varric, I won’t! You’ve been miserable this entire time! I don’t even know why, but I know this...” she mentally fumbles through her vocabulary, _“puta tonta_ is the reason!” Her anger makes it difficult to get the words out, stumbling over her own tongue and barely making it to the other side, “and - and she made a deal with them that we - we just _barely_ fixed. What - what do you think would’ve happened had they gotten through to Orzammar or had a constant supply, huh?”

The strain of leading is clear on her face. She is not Anita to them right now, nor is she herself. She’s the Herald, a teenager who must think beyond herself.

Bianca steps forward, hands up. “Listen, I didn’t expect-“

 _“You,”_ Anita turns venomously. _“Don’t_ talk. You did this to further your knowledge without realizing what was at stake. Everything the Inquisition has done to restore peace could’ve gone to pieces! Did you not see what it did to Kirkwall?! What it’s doing to us _now?!”_

While facing the woman, green sparks trail down the teenagers arms and crackle at her fingertips, but she breathes deeply and forces it down.

“I didn’t realize-“

“You should have!” Anita shouts. “We are leaving. And _you,”_ she storms forward and jabs her finger into the dwarf. Everyone holds their breath. “No more disappearing.  From now on you’re answering to us - the Inquisition, Leliana - I don’t _care,_ but obviously you can’t be left by yourself or with the Merchants Guild.”

Bianca puts a hand on the hilt of her blade. “Listen, kid,” she says, eyes flinty. “I don’t know who you think-“

The Anchor suddenly crackles and sparks to life with energy, startling Bianca backwards. Anita hunches over her hand, burning brightly in the dim light of the thaig.

 _“Burning all the way up, ripping and agonizing - why won’t it stop?_ Black cities, empty thrones and lost prayers - divinity has never been kind.”

Solas’ eyes sharpen at the end of the sentence, but he still looks her over with worry, trying to see the clenched fist she holds tightly to her chest.

“Cole,” Varric admonishes the boy gently, eyeing Anita. “Remember what I said about reading other people’s thoughts out loud?”

“But they’re are so loud,” he says softly, his face contorted as he no doubt tries to sort through all of the hurt he can hear. “There’s so much in there and I want to help! And, those aren’t-“

Cassandra lays a hand on the girl’s shoulder, which she shrugs off. “I’m fine,” she says when she’s regained her breath.

“Solas will be the judge of that,” The Seeker decides, the two of them sharing a nod behind the girl’s head.

“... Fine, but after we leave this place,” she sets her tired gaze on the startled Bianca and an oddly calm Varric. “Make sure Leliana has a trail of her. I’ll drag her to Skyhold myself if I have to.”

“Got you loud and clear, Spitfire,” he flashes her a grin, returning the crossbow-Bianca to his back.

“Varric, we can talk about this! I thought you trusted me,” Bianca says with a good amount of hurt in her voice.

He shrugs, not meeting her eyes. “You haven’t been very trustworthy in a long time, Bianca.”

* * *

After leaving the thaig, Cassandra demands that Solas look over the Anchor. Anita dodges and evades them, not wanting to worry them but also wanting - _selfishly, but what child is not selfish?_ \- to keep more of her to herself, the more they try to interfere.

“It doesn’t bother me,” she insists, head twisting left and right as she searches for an exit.

The Seeker isn’t convinced, arms crossed. “Then why won’t you allow him to look?”

“Because I don’t want him to waste his magic. I’m serious, _it’s fine!”_

Cassandra sighs shaking her head at the remarkably stubborn girl. Without warning she presses forward and slings Anita over her shoulder. “If you’re going to act like a child, I am going to treat you like a child. Solas,” she calls, bringing Anita over to a log.

The girl doesn’t kick or scream, but she does pout thunderously as they prepare to inspect the mark. Solas rolls up the sleeve she has covered her left hand with and he sucks in a harsh breath.

Thick chartreuse and white tendrils flow through her hand and wrist, her veins lit up the same color. The gash in her hand is difficult to discern but it’s there if one looks hard enough, the tendrils not quite wrapped around the edge. Cassandra tries to stifle her gasp and fails.

“Has it... been like this the entire time?” The older woman asks quietly, eyes level.

Solas carefully flows healing magic into the mark and she involuntarily sags, the burning pain becoming cool relief. The only thing that remains is a slight feeling of pins and needles - but that is leagues better than how it felt before. Her head nearly lolls with the physical relief this brings her.

Initially, she doesn’t answer, rolling her tongue around in her mouth absently as she searches for words. And then Cole opens his mouth:

 _“It fits like a puzzle piece, a respite to the pain in overflowing waves of soothing relief,_ gracias al creatore-“

“Cole,” she says with exhaustion in her tone, tongue heavy and every muscle sore. The spirit stops talking.

And then to Cassandra, without meeting her eyes, “no.”

The magic attached to her body retreats further into her palm and consolidate there almost in a dormant state, swirling and pulsing. They almost swim in a circle, one following the other, a perfect fit.

“Is that true?” Cassandra grunts, arms crossed.

Oh, she hasn’t been unhappy with me like that in awhile. Whoops.

“I don’t know, _Seeker of Truth,”_ she grounds out the title, causing the exact reaction she wanted: a scowl and anxious shifting, “is it?”

Solas clears his throat. “You may come to me anytime the Anchor becomes too much, da’len.” He swipes his thumb over her hand once and then stands.

She nods, pulling her sleeve back down and remaining where she is. Her body accepted the magic Solas offered like a puzzle piece, but suddenly she turns her gaze to the sky. The sunset is nice and the burning wax streaks of reds, yellows and oranges across the sky are a welcome distraction from everything.

Cassandra approaches at some point but ultimately turns back and leaves her to her own musing - something she’s grateful for because she’s sure they’d end up arguing. Cole does sit next to her for sometime in silence, offering a solitary comfort that warms her heart. Varric is the one who finally takes the plunge, plopping down next to her with a weary sigh. Cole disappears.

She doesn’t look up. “Long day, huh?”

He laughs dryly. “You could say that. Look, Spitfire, I wanted to talk about something you said earlier...”

With steel in her stomach she takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“When you mentioned Kirkwall-“

She shifts nervously, interrupting. “I was... around... the area every now and then. I guess you could say I became familiar with the area.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Surprising that I never saw you, given how much I traveled that city. I mean, I know nearly every Comte and Comtesse.”

She sighs, digging her boot into the dirt. “You wouldn’t have. I was under express orders not to be seen.”

He eyes her from his peripheral, lips pursed slightly. “Just who exactly were you involved with, Spitfire?”

A hand trails down the tattoos on her face absently. “I... was hired. I had no choice.”

It’s quiet for several moments. “If... you’d rather-“

“I think story time has been a long time coming,” she interjects, mentally subtracting details from the story she’s about to tell. “There once was a group of Assassin’s sent from Antiva to track down a rogue...”

* * *

Her orders were simple enough. Go with the Crows and observe Mage-Templar relations in the city for the time being.

If possible she was to take out the assassin they were tracking down, but that was a last resort if the other Crows couldn’t do their job.

He was to be left to the _‘professionals’_ \- she scoffed at that internally, because why make the thirteen year old do your dirty work if you don’t trust her, but they didn’t like that question. She has a sprawling bruise on her cheek and a split upper lip for it and spent most of the trip quiet as a result.

Instead of staying in the city as they instructed her, she followed them to the rocky mountain coast where they intended to wait for their chosen sell-sword _(the irony in this cannot be exaggerated, in her opinion.)_

This ‘Hawke’ was incredibly skeptical of them, she knew this, but couldn’t tell what it was that tipped her off. She spends a day following the woman around Kirkwall for them, gathering useless information until she tells them to do it themselves and going off on her own to begin her own mission.

The Crows set up camp in a small alcove sheltered from the strong winds and she sets up close by, then sweeps away to the nearby clan on the mountain.

 _“Andar’an Atish’an,”_ she greets softly to the standing guards. _  
_

They seem confused but incline their heads slightly and one asks in a thickly accented Dalish tongue, “What do you require, outsider?”

Politely, she smiles and bows her head. “I simply seek information - and perhaps to repair my bow?” She pulls a broken bow out from behind her sheepishly. They nearly grab their weapons but relax when they see the state of it.

With a confident look between each other, the first guard says, “You may enter, stranger. Do not cause trouble... please.”

The second guard takes another look at the bow she had presented to them and says deadpan, “That bow will not be salvageable.”

With a practiced look of despair, she looks it over. “Are you sure? I know you would know more than I would, but this is my only bow...”

The hunters exchange hesitant looks. “Go find Master Illen, our blacksmith. He will help you, _da’len.”_

She smiles broadly. “Thank you very much!”

Returning the broken bow that she’d never seen before in her life to her back, she enters the Dalish camp. They mostly try to ignore her presence, but some huddle around and eye her carefully.

“Excuse me?,” she says to the nearest woman, who blinks before straightening in attention. “I’m looking for Master Illen? That’s where I was pointed to, at least.”

The woman frowns slightly, looking her over. “What could you need from a Dalish blacksmith, stranger?”

“You see, my bow is broken,” she explains, removing it from her back again to show them the scuffs and breaks in the wood.

Sweeping a critical eye over the bow, the woman sighs. “Allow me to show you to him. That bow is laughable and it will be a miracle from the Creators if it can be salvaged.”

She nods mutely, following the woman to who she presumes is Master Illen. They speak in Elvhen for a few moments before the Master smiles at her.

“Who might our young friend here be?”

With practiced shyness, she removes the bow again, presenting it to him. “I’ve seen for myself that the Dalish are the best craftsmen around - and my bow broke, and I was in the area, and...”

The man holds up a hand to stop her forced rambling, taking the bow from her gently and examining it. “This cannot be repaired, _da’len.”_

She deflates. “Oh, okay. Thank you anyway, Ser. May I have the bow back? Perhaps I can sell the scraps.”

He eyes her before folding his arms, bow in hand. “Why do you not have any other weapons? Where are your guardians?”

“You see, I - I’m alone. I need that bow or I can’t get food, or protect myself...”

Which absolutely isn’t true by the daggers on her back under her shirt.

He frowns, running a hand over the broken wood. “How long will you be here, child?”

Pretending to think, she taps her chin. “I don’t know yet, a few weeks maybe. I have to find someone.”

He nods slowly. “While you are here, I will gift you with a bow of my own make. But I am trusting you to bring it back to me.”

The girl grins. “Of course! Thank you so much, Ser!”

Master Illen clears his throat. “Yes, well... it is no problem, _da’len._ If it is a person you seek, perhaps one of our scouts can assist you.”

She nods happily, accepting the new bow he hands her and approaching a hunter.

“Hello?”

The hunter doesn’t look up from what she’s doing. “What’s a _shem_ kid doing in camp?”

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for someone while I’m in the area and was told you might be able to help.”

The elf looks up and glares, looking her over. “Fine. There’s a system of caves in this area that are all pretty easy to hide in. I’ll draw you a few maps.”

 _Just her luck!_ “Thank you, Ser! I’ll be out of your hair soon!”

The elf walks away, muttering something like, “I sure hope so,” and returns with the drawn maps several minutes later.

“Here. Don’t get lost,” She grunts.

“I won’t! Thank you for your help!”

When she’s finally in the cave system she groans. Not that she doesn’t respect the Dalish _normally,_ but having to pretend to be a defenseless idiot grates on her nerves every time.

An accented voice rolls into the cave, fairly amused and cocky. “Ah, the Crows finally found me. _Again.”_

She rolls her eyes. “No, I found you.”

The owner of the voice strides into the light, surprise and then sadness settling over his face. “The Crows are sending children after me now?”

“No, I came after you myself. They don’t own me,” She snaps defensively.

“Your markings would say differently,” he leans his weight on one leg and studies her.

One of her hands comes up to caress the tattoo that is mirrored on his face and she shakes her head. “I was sent with the Crows on their mission to kill you. But that’s not why I’m here.”

He raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “That’s surprising, but go on, I’m very intrigued.”

“You left the Crows. _How?_ _Why?”_

His look becomes far away, almost wistful. “I betrayed the people I loved for them. I realized that I could not do it again, and that I was done being leashed.”

Her cheeks burn underneath the tattoo.

“You can do it too,” he says softly. “You do not have to be what they want you to be.”

“I’m their property,” she hisses, teeth clenched. “I did one job because I was hungry and desperate and suddenly I belonged to them.”

“That does sound like the Crows,” he sighs. “You said something curious. You are not a Crow?”

She spits. “Not by choice. I’ve avoided them as long as I could until... I’m not a Crow. Just a business partner.”

He nods carefully, still inspecting her. “Why did you come to find me, little _Velasco?”_

 _“Don’t_ call me that,” her eyes flash with steel. “And because... I wanted proof.”

The calm assassin inclines his head. “Proof of what?”

_“Freedom.”_

* * *

Varric nods slowly. “What happened after you met the target?”

“I went back to Antiva, briefly. I...” Received a punishment for allowing them to die and Zevran to get away. “... Was reassigned to Kirkwall. I was in the city before the Qunari attack, and again when the mages and Knight-Commander Meredith faced off.”

The dwarf whistles. “What could your employers need you in Kirkwall for?”

She smiles secretively. “That’s for another time.”

While the sun sets even further and the burning sky fades to reveal the moons, she quietly reflects on the days events. Varric leaves with a pat on her shoulder at one point and she rested her chin in her hand.

Eventually she flicks over the information of the day and remembers a dragon sighting in the area. She lights up with glee, an idea hit her.

Standing with care for her injured knee, she finds the closest piece of paper and quill.

> Iron Bull _(and your handsome mage acquaintance),_
> 
> Your presence is required. When the Chargers have completed their tasks at the remains of Haven, send them back to Skyhold. Enclosed in the letter are coordinates and a map to our relative location.
> 
> A.

She places a copy of their location on a map into the missive, finding the nearest raven and, with a small kiss to its beak, sends it off.

* * *

That night she dreams of the clan on the mountain.

_Admittedly, she did not go back to the small camp she had set up near her fellow Crows, instead choosing to stay with Zevran for a short amount of time. According to him, Hawke had a chance to kill him already - and didn’t. She has a meeting with the Crows the next day and Zevran is going to interrupt._

“Fashionably late, of course,” _she can hear his voice saying. She feels the small smile she had worn._ “Otherwise it’s just not worth it.”

 _The firelight was warm and cozy in the cave. She liked Zevran - he was nice, funny and most of all he_ understood _._

_She tried to ignore what it meant when they confronted the Crows meant to kill Zevran._

“You don’t have to go back, you know,” _Zevran’s voice says casually, sharpening one of his blades. Even as a memory she remembers it as clearly as the day it happened._

 _She sighs with the memory, the bone-deep tiredness setting in._ “And do what? Be on the run? No, I have to finish this.”

“Finish what?” _He asks without looking up._

_She doesn’t answer. They both know that she doesn’t have any clue what she has to finish._

“Well,” _he says, putting his blade away fluidly._ “If you ever need me, I am not a hard man to find. But I do believe there is a nest that needs to be ahem...” _his eyes focus on the entrance of the cave._ “Dealt with.”

“Be safe,” _she says without thinking._ “Uh - Antonio has a weakness in his left leg. Past injury.”

 _Zevran nods, no amusement in his face now. He pats her head._ “You’ll be fine, corvo,” _he says with a sad affection._ “You, keep safe as well.”

 _She nods, not trusting her voice as he leaves. The firelight flickers but she stays still, leaned up against the wall and catatonic-like. The thoughts of_ “why didn’t I go with him” _and_ “I’m trapped again” _race through her mind unbidden, but in the thrall of a memory she has all but no choice to bear them._

“So, this is what you’ve been doing up here,” _a vaguely familiar voice says from the entrance, leaning up on the side._ “Can’t say I’m impressed. Haven’t even used the bow.”

_The terror she felt then courses through her veins again as she bolts to her feet, looking for another exit._

“Relax, _shem,”_ _the Dalish hunter from days ago said with a bored tone._ “I’m not here to kill you. Or to drag you down Sundermount and have you questioned for not using a bow.”

“Then...” _her voice came out as a squeak and she winces as she did then,_ “why are you here?”

 _The hunter shrugs._ “Curiosity? Not often a shem - much less a kid - lies to us so boldly and then does nothing with it. I mean, you tricked everyone. That’s why they sent me up here to check on you, it’s been so long since you came down.”

“I tricked everyone... but not you?”

“I didn’t believe you were helpless,” _the elf clarifies, pushing off the wall and entering the cave properly._ “And if the clan is going to be stuck on Sundermount for much longer, I figured might as well find some entertainment...”

“Ah,” _she replied a bit flatly._ “Well, here’s your entertainment. I simply needed to get to the caves to find someone I heard you had been sheltering, and didn’t want bloodshed to do so.”

 _The hunter nods absently._ “Well, did you find it?”

 _Subira blinks._ _“It?_ No, I found him.”

 _The woman snorts._ “No, obviously you found the assassin. I mean what it was you were looking for _in_ the assassin. Did you find it?”

As the memory fades and she feels herself waking up, she finds herself wondering if she ever did find it.

_Freedom._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations!!  
> puta tonta - dumb whore  
> andar'an atish'an - elvhen greeting, enter this place in peace. (this is intentional, having her use this greeting - it makes her appear as a slightly confused but well meaning human)  
> shem - slang for 'quick' and typically referring to humans  
> corvo - crow  
> velasco - also crow


	36. Thunder Under the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira decides to do a thing. 
> 
> A little bit of a short one but worry not, I’m about to add a ton of chapters to my drafts to be ready for uploading and they’re all super long.

Her plan was - is - foolproof. About two weeks into tying up loose ends in the Hinterlands, the Iron Bull and Dorian arrive at a nearby camp. She receives the missive with joy and begins preparing to join them.

“Cassandra, Solas, you are being relieved from duty temporarily,” she said without looking up.

Cassandra bristles. “What? Who is-“

“Iron Bull and Dorian are going to replace you. I need you both to return to Skyhold to prepare for our trip to the Storm Coast,” she insists, digging through her bag.

Cassandra scowls. “I don’t think you can just-“

“I can, though,” she grins, looking up. “I’m the Herald or whatever, which means I’ve got _some_ amount of authority, right?”

The older woman sighs, sharing a mournful look with Solas that screams _‘young hubris’._

And so, Solas and Cassandra begrudgingly return to Skyhold while Subira welcomes the addition of Dorian and Iron Bull.

“So, kiddo,” Bull rumbles when he sees her, ruffling her hair. “What did you need us for?”

In her, a presence roars in anticipation and trembles with raw power. Her eyes light up, leaning in close with a whisper. “A _dragon.”_

He whoops, reaching down and then placing her on his shoulders. “Oh, hell yeah!”

Although Dorian and Varric grumble about how potentially dangerous this is, neither outright refuse to come. In fact, Dorian seems to enjoy striking down dragonlings and Varric takes trickshots with Bianca.

A loud, thundering roar shakes the ground. Bull cheers, pounding on his chest. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

She grunts, slamming a dagger into the skull of a dragonling and wincing as she slips on her bad leg, blinking as her stance corrects itself. She shakes it off and called it muscle memory.

Time slows down when the High Dragon settles itself into the small clearing. It’s like it can see through her, looking for something she doesn’t know she has. It lowers its head, as if in a bow.

She’s stunned. Absolutely captivated by the amount of intelligence in her eyes, the swirling green that reflects back to her, causing her to blink.

And then it roars, shaking the cliffs and causing rocks to fall in chipped pieces.

Clearly, it’s not above being ready for a fight.

“Bull, flank it!” She shouts, running to the left, narrowly avoiding being hit by fire. “Dorian, ice her. Varric, target her hind legs!”

Dorian complains about having to use ice, but does so efficiently. Bull manages to get a critical hit to the dragons leg, causing her to roar and lash out angrily, searching behind her for the source of her pain. For all his weight and height, Bull is surprisingly nimble and avoids being slashed with large claws.

Subira darts under the chest of the dragon, slamming her short-sword as hard as she can into the thick skin and grunting as the weight of the dragon shifts downward.

Her leg creaks as she presses back, energy surging forward under her skin and into her muscles with a boost of strength, moving forward with her blade in its chest.

_Thank the Maker Cassandra has been showing her in the forge how to properly sharpen her weapons._

It doesn’t kill it, but she must’ve hit something important because suddenly she’s being gushed with hot dragon blood and the dragon is retreating, causing her to fall to the ground as it’s powerful wings carry it away on the battlefield.

Panting, she looks up at the beast. It’s beautiful, but also terrorizing the locals. But this mesmerizing beast has left dozens of children, and she has lived a long life. A proud one.

“Bull,” she shouts, running towards the dragon. “When I throw this at its face, attack it’s throat!”

The man grunts and she takes that as approval, throwing the flask at the dragons face. The glass breaks and a gas erupts that changes colors in front of the dragons eyes. It sways and shakes its head and in the distraction she uses her short swords to scramble on to the back of the dragon, ripping one across its wing. It roars in pain, lashing out indiscriminately.

Bull slams his axe into the dragon's neck, and it begins to sway heavily. She scrambles, breathing hard, to the top of its head before plunging her dagger into its temple. It falls and she falls with it, causing a panicked noise to go up among her companions.

When the dust settles, she’s completely uninjured, standing next to the dead dragon. She strokes its horns forlornly.

“Go in peace, my friend.” she whispers before closing each of its eyes.

No one speaks for a few moments, Varric leading her away from the dragon. “We’ll get the Scouts to cut the head and we can go back to Skyhold with it.”

She grins, her hair incredibly thick and frizzy from the heat and blood splattered in her teeth from the fight. “I can’t _wait_ to show Cassandra!”

* * *

Of course, Cassandra was not nearly as happy about the fact that they killed a dragon - _without her_ \- as Anita was. The girl was beaming as she arrived back at Skyhold, smugly waiting for a large wagon to make its way into the courtyard. When it did, a hush fell over the fortress.

“Did... you kill that?” Cassandra asks, a large vein nearly popping out of her head with the strain of holding herself back.

Anita bounces on her toes, bad leg just barely faltering. “Yes! We killed it, and I climbed on top of it-!”

Cassandra steps forward, fingers twitching by her sides and looking far too ready to throw something. “You _what?!”_

Josephine approaches now, clipboard in hand and with their Seneschal in tow, placing a calming hand on the Seeker’s shoulder. “Cassandra, please, I’m sure whatever it is-“

Her words abruptly stop when she sees the head of the dragon.

“Did...” Josephine trails off in astonishment, eyes coming back to the beaming teenager.

“I did,” Anita says with a grin.

In her eyes they can see clearly something bright and desperately shining, but the Ambassador can’t put her finger on it. She anxiously taps her foot while she thinks, wondering internally if they don’t pay enough attention to her and resolves to talk about it with the Inner Circle.

Perhaps that’s why she took on an entire dragon.

Leliana’s face is impassive, but she steps forward to see the dragon better.

“Impressive, _ma petit puce,”_ she comments softly, gently smoothing out some of the girl’s hair.

Anita beams, impulsively throwing her arms around her. Leliana freezes, and Josephine and Cassandra look on with wonder. Slowly, she returns the embrace, a small smile curving on her lips.

Anita pulls back, cheeks slightly red and hands now behind her back. “We should have a party!”

Josephine raises a brow. “A party?”

“Yeah, you know,” she digs the toe of her shoe into the stone. “I mean, it’s a dragon, and...” she mumbled something incoherent.

The Ambassador cocks her head. “What did you say? Speak up, _tesoro.”_

“... it would just be nice,” she mumbled, not willing to admit she hasn’t had anything celebrated or been to a party that wasn’t part of some sort of assignment.

_Or that her birthday passed._

The three of them share a look. “I’m sure we can arrange something,” Josephine says with a smile, brushing a motherly hand through Anita’s hair.

After the dragon incident, a rule was implemented that she must consult her advisors before swapping her companions out, whether it’s in person or by letter. But she got to kill a dragon and everyone forgot - _no one forgot_ \- about the Anchor incident, so the win outweighs the loss to her.

Although, later when she realized that Leliana called her 'petite flea’ as a term of endearment, she was very confused, but nonetheless pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tesoro - dear/sweetheart  
> ma petit puce - my little flea (a french term of endearment)


	37. Cold Heart, Strong Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anita is named Inquisitor. Subira chips away another part of herself. Sera just wants to help, Cole can’t seem to stop helping. Bull is a chaotic uncle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I’m sorry for the delay in an update. I kind of almost got kicked out of my house last night? So that might... stress my next updates, especially considering I’m going into senior year and I have a lot to do. But I have literally so much written in my notes that all I have to do is transfer it into chapter-drafts :) As in, I have the Approach, Crestwood and Adamant written. I haven’t given up on Subira! I’m constantly continuing her story. Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me and enjoys her story as much as I do. Without further ado...

They requested - but more like grounded her - that she stay a few days before departing again, some Inquisition business or whatever. Walking towards the main hall, she freezes when she notices three of her Inner Circle waiting there for her. The air is already tense and serious.

Cassandra has her hands behind her back with a calm, pensive expression on her face, Josephine holds her hands in front of her, smiling gently, and Leliana stands in the front with a large sword.

She approaches slowly. “What is... what’s that?”

Cassandra steps forward, the start of a fond smile on her lips. “We need someone to formally lead this Inquisition.”

Her heart sinks, taking a step back. The smiles her mentors wear slowly fall at her face of panic. “S-surely you mean yourself? Right?”

“You have been leading us, Anita,” Josephine attempts gently.

The girl shakes her head. “No, no I haven’t,” She places her hands in her hair. “I can’t do this...”

Leliana steps forward now. “You have, and you can.”

“I _can’t,”_ her voice raises in pitch suddenly and her eyes reflect her horror, becoming a deep forest of green with sizzles of electricity that seem to match up with the mark - active now in her clenched palm. “What happens if I mess up and that horrible future comes to pass? I can’t - I can’t watch you all die again. I _won’t!”_

She turns away. They had known she would have a difficult time with the idea of leading, but not that she would resist this vehemently. Her back heaves as she forces down breaths.

Suddenly, she turns with bright, violent tears in her eyes. They had all convinced her they cared and she let herself fall into it. _Dammit, she believed it!_ But now they’re forcing this on her.

Her eyes are as cold as steel. “You want a leader? An Inquisitor? _Fine.”_

Stepping forward with her head raised high, you wouldn’t have known she was absolutely terrified. When they step through the door into the light, the tears are gone. Cullen stands with his hands behind his back, nodding at the group before retreating down the stairs with Josephine in tow.

Cassandra begins again, “People arrive every day to Skyhold from every settlement in the region. If word has reached them, it has reached this Elder One.”

She nods, thinking about her and Vivienne’s conversation. “We have the walls and the people to put up a fight now, though, right?”

The Seeker nods, face falling just a bit and then picking back up hopefully. “This war is much more than we anticipated. But we now know what drew Corypheus to you - what allowed you to stand against him.”

She nods slowly, raising her marked hand.

Cassandra shakes her head. “Your decisions and your determination have lead us where we are. You sealed the Heavens, allowed us to escape from Haven, reached Skyhold. Everyone knows that you are that creatures rival because of what you have done.”

She clears her throat again, widening her stance. “The Inquisition requires a leader. The one who has already been leading us.”

Leliana presents the sword to her once again. The same sense of dread she felt when she first saw it falls over her and she shivers, a resigned rock beginning to settle itself right where she needs to breathe.

A crowd of people stand below the stairs, eyes bright with hope. Josephine and Cullen look up at her with bright smiles.

“Are... are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Anita asks quietly, desperately.

“I would be terrified handing this power to anyone,” Cassandra shakes her head. “But I believe this is the only way.”

Her allies peer at her from the crowd. Sera looks concerned, but gives her a thumbs up and blows a raspberry from the crowd. Dorian brings his fingers up to his mouth, reminding her to smile. Internally she rolls her eyes - but it does make her lips turn up slightly.

“They will follow you,” Cassandra insists, gesturing to the sword. “To them, being so young only shows how far you have come, what you have achieved, and what must’ve been by Andraste’s hand.”

Subira approaches Leliana slowly while Cassandra finishes with, “What that means for you? How you will lead us? That is for you alone to determine.”

She stares at the sword, placing her hand on it numbly. It feels like she’s not in her own body, watching herself go through the motions. She hefts it up, surprised at how light it is.

Shaking him off, she speaks clearly, “I will lead the fight against Corypheus,” she promises, eyes fixed on the sword. “I will protect Thedas. The Inquisition is for _all.”_

Cassandra lets the side of her mouth curl up. “Wherever you lead us.”

The Seeker steps forward, calling out to the crowd. “Have our people been told?”

Josephine smiles. “They have! And soon, the world!”

Cassandra calls to Cullen, “Commander, will they follow?”

Cullen grins. “Inquisition, will you follow?”

The crowd cheers, throwing their arms up for their Inquisitor.

He raises a hand. “Will you _fight?”_

The cheering becomes louder, some drawing their own weapons and raising them.

_“Will we triumph?!”_

Panicked, Subira meets Cole’s eyes in the crowd. He looks sad, an understanding that is too much for her to bear and she looks away quickly.

Cullen unsheathes his sword, pointing towards Anita. “Your Leader! Your Herald! Your _Inquisitor!”_

The roaring of the crowd becomes deafening and she feels like she may pass out. Instead, she hefts the sword above her head, a confident mask of indifference on her face.

* * *

When the celebration for Anita’s naming as Inquisitor is in full swing, no one can find the Inquisitor herself.

“Hey, Creepy,” Sera calls from across the tavern to Cole.

The spirit looks up. “Where’s the kid? Thought she’d be here tonight of all nights, I was sure they were gonna let her have a drink with us...”

Cole looks down, his eyes becoming sad. _“Trapped, tangled in my own web, I cannot escape. My skin tingles with the ache to run._ _I don’t want this_ plays like a twisted lullaby that never ends.”

Sera smacks her forehead with her hand, dragging it down and pulling on her eyelids. “Talk sense, Creepy!”

He shakes his head. “I can’t hear anything else.”

Sera shifts uncomfortably. “Uh, Cr - _Cole,”_ she corrects herself with a shudder, “you can bring me to her, yeah?”

He takes Sera’s hand. She’s startled by the cold touch but allows it with a gulp - it’s for the _kid,_ after all. He leads her quietly through the crowd of the tavern until they’re in the Courtyard, and then through the main hall and up the stairs. Many of these rooms have not been redone yet, and so no one has come up to see if their beloved Herald and now Inquisitor may be hiding out there.

Sure enough, sitting on a secluded piece of roof is Anita. But next to her is the Iron Bull, and they both laugh so hard they nearly fall off. Sera squints.

 _“Oi,_ bloody hell!” the elf exclaims, climbing up on the roof as well. Cole has disappeared behind her. “You got her roaring drunk? Are you _mad?”_

Bull takes a large swig of... whatever he’s drinking. “Sera, we’re celebrating the killing of her dragon! Her and I never got to. Here, have some!”

The elf pushes his mug away. _“No way,_ remember what happened last time I drank that bloody stuff?”

Bull grins, gesturing with his drink. “Point taken.”

Sera’s nose scrunches up at the pungent smell of the drink that Bull frequently liked to ingest reaches her. “But you gave it to her? How did she not throw up?”

Bull shrugs. “She did, the first time. After the first couple of sips she got used to it. Plus, lighten up Jenny,” he teases, “I didn’t give her that much.”

“When did she even start likin’ you?” Sera tugs at her hair nervously.

The girl is blind drunk, eyes not focusing on one thing as she leans against Bull. _“Oopf,_ hi Sera!”

Bull shrugs. “I don’t think she does like me. Think she likes the Chargers,” he thinks on it and adds, gesturing to his alcohol, “and _this.”_

“I think she’s had enough, don’t you?” Sera slings one of Anita’s arms over her shoulder.

“I cut her off awhile ago,” Bull remarks dryly, standing to stretch. “Might want to take her to the back way, if Red catches her like this-“

“Yeah, yeah,” Sera grumbles, deciding to just pick the small teenager up and throw her over her shoulder. “Damn, she’s heavier than I thought.”

Anita giggles, her head lolling. “I gained... lots of muscle!”

“Yeah, I can tell,” the elf grunts, struggling to safely get them from the side of the roof to the walkway. Anita sways slightly on her shoulders.

She hiccups, _“...Seraaa...”_

Sera snorts. “Yeah, kid?”

“If I asked you... to help me... get,” hiccup, _“away,”_ Anita says, suddenly very quiet. “Would’aya help me?”

Sneaking as quietly as possible, she opens the large chamber door to Anita’s quarters and closes it behind her, starting the long trek up the stairs.

“I know you don’t want to do that, Harry,” Sera says sympathetically, her heart stinging under the implications of her question.

“But I do, Sera!” Anita insists after she’s been put into bed, her tongue thick and head lolling. “I never wanted th-this, I want to get a-away. I can be a Red Jenny with you! They hate me, they must... They said they cared...”

Sera smiles as her words become sad gibberish, bitter tears coming to her eyes. She shushes the girl softly. “I’ll sit with you until you go to sleep. Let’s talk more about being a Red Jenny in the morning, yeah?”

Anita mumbles sleepily, her frown becoming indistinguishable.

A figure walks from the shadows, arms crossed behind their back. “I’ll cut straight to the point; which one of you thought it was a good idea to get the Inquisitor inebriated?”

Sera jumps from the bed, pulling at her hair. “I know how this looks, Stabby, but it wasn’t me-“

“How _convenient,”_ Leliana enunciates, pressing closer. “It wasn’t you, yet you are the one bringing her to bed.”

The elf scoffs, rolling her eyes at the flinty Spymaster. “Yeah, because Bull woulda been too obvious, _duh.”_

The Seneschal’s face becomes murderous. “The _qunari_ got her drunk?”

“Relax, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Leliana glares at Sera, clearly not pacified in the slightest.

“Look, she’s fine. Will have a hangover in the morning, but no biggie! Give her some water and one of Dorian’s potions,” Leliana’s eyes are full of skepticism and Sera rolls her eyes. “Bull barely gave her any of that dragon-shite he drinks. Or was it piss? Any how, I’m pretty sure her breath smelled of that stuffy wine the Ambassador ordered for today. I don’t blame the kid, after what you all pulled today. It was right shitty to do this to her.”

Passing over the implication that Anita may have stolen copious amounts of wine, Leliana raises a brow. “Who is _‘we’?_ Humor me, how could _‘we’_ have caused this?”

Sera rolls her eyes impatiently. “Don’t play dumb with me, Stabby. She doesn’t deserve this - any of it. You lot all know Iron Breeches could’ve been Inquisitor just fine and you coulda left the kid alone. But no,” she mocks, pretending to fall and raises a hand up to the ceiling. “Had to keep the Inquisition’s pretty name up. How does it feel knowing you’ve trapped her?”

Leliana takes a step back. “It was never our intention, I-“

“Wasn’t it?” Sera demands, straightening and looking at the uneasily sleeping teenager. “You lot have been cutting off her exits since she got here because you don’t want her to leave,” the young adult laughs sardonically to Leliana’s harsh flinch, “And not even because you care about her! But because she can fix the world with that crazy magic on her hand.”

Leliana opens her mouth to reply, but Anita shifts, mumbling something incoherent. They’re both drawn to the crackling and spitting mark on her hand. Sera cautiously strokes the marked hand, hissing at the hot sparks that hit her and shaking her own.

“You lot have done enough,” Sera decides, staring at the girls uneasily sleeping face. “She’s ‘jest a kid, Red. Remember tha’.”

Before Leliana can say another word, Sera has exited the room, brushing past a slightly stunned Josephine none-too-gently on the way.

The Ambassador looks lost for words. “Leliana,” she asks in a small voice, looking down at the teenager. “Have we...”

The Spymaster sighs, thinking of all the casualties in her work. This, the Inquisitor’s spirit and freedom, seems to be another. “I think we did, Josie. I think we did.”

Josephine frowns, gently sitting next to Anita on her bed, smoothing out her hair and wrinkles in the bedsheets.

“I wish she was more comfortable here,” the Ambassador whispers. “I wish we could make her feel happy. Sera... has a point. She doesn’t deserve this.”

Leliana sighs again. “She doesn’t, but it’s necessary.”

Every now and then, resting uneasily, Anita will shift with a scowl or frown upon her lips. When this happens, a pale hand reaches over to gently touch her hand, her forehead, arm - wherever the spirit feels is best and murmurs something unintelligible  until she falls back into a somewhat normal sleep.

As he often does while she sleeps - for her protection, he once said cryptically, Cole sits by the Inquisitor’s bedside. For once, as opposed to his usual, he does not monologue, does not murmur phrases or sentences from the girl’s dreams.

Instead, he is quiet. His large hat obscures the pale eyes that hold so much and he holds his hands in his lap. Almost completely still, you wouldn’t notice him unless you knew he was there.

Perhaps that is more unnerving than had he said something concerning or vague about the girl.


	38. You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira has some bonding moments with a lot of her companions, but will her - and their own, in some cases - insecurities get in the way of that? Will Subira struggle with accepting affection and trust? Ah, I’m getting ahead of myself. For the first time, she sits in judgement.

As Inquisitor, Subira has more liberties. And her first action was to speed up her next expedition - back to the Storm Coast, and then to the Fallow Mire. She will return to Skyhold after that to check in, and immediately go back out. They have to check out the Western Approach, with more and more signs of Venatori being reported.

“Cullen, send your soldiers here,” she commands calmly, pointing to the beginning of the Western Approach. “Josephine, have you been able to secure Orlais’ support for our campaign in their country?”

The Ambassador smiles. “Received while you were in the Hinterlands. The Western Approach is all clear.”

“Good,” she clears her throat, surveying the map. “We need Agents and soldiers stationed there immediately to keep the Venatori at bay. I may send a group of my allies to deal with the minor things while I complete other important tasks...”

Rubbing a hand over her face, she stares at the map. “I am bringing Dorian, Cole and Cassandra to the Coast,” she decides. “I need Blackwall, Bull, Vivienne and Sera to be stationed in the Approach. If they truly need my opinion on a decision, they may send a raven here. If you need my opinion, send a raven.”

Leliana is already looking over her agents on the board and various letters. “I’ll arrange it immediately, Your Worship.”

Before they all parted ways, she cleared her throat and all three turned, but she said, “And, Cullen?”

He inclined his head politely, “Yes, Your Worship?”

“I’ll bring our soldiers home safe.”

* * *

Of course nothing could stay on track, she thought miserably. She’s covered in mud, trekking through the Fallow Mire whilst Dorian complains and Cole says the most eerie things. Eventually she turns around and snaps,

“If neither of you have anything productive to say, then stop talking!”

Dorian’s cheeks became very pink and Cole ducks his head. Cassandra just grunt, used to the girls simmering temper by now.

In the haze of the awful rain, she nearly walks straight into the giant Avvar. She blinks, stumbling on her leg and the mud and - _oh yes, the giant Avvar who is now looking at her strangely and helping steady her-_

She tilts her head nervously. “Hello?”

The man looks down at her. “You sealed the tear, healed the Lady of the Sky,” he rumbles curiously.

She shrugs. “I guess I did. That’s good though, right?”

He shakes his head, looking to the sky - nearly pitch black in all the fog and rain. “The Lady of the Sky writes warnings through the bird flocks in the air. Do you see it? Do you know her, _Herald?”_

Subira blinks. “I do not know the Lady of the Sky,” she said slowly. “But I have seen the unrest. The world _is_ in turmoil.”

They have little else to say after that, and so they move on. With Subira’s bad leg it’s difficult to move around in the Mire and she frequently trips or finds herself stuck.

A giant stronghold appears through the fog and she takes a deep breath. “We just have to get there, see what this Avvar wants, and get out.”

And no one could’ve predicted the hordes of undead rising to attack, apparently. Subira yells in frustration when they first begin to show up.

“Run to the gate!” She turns to face the horde, pulling a bottle from her satchel. Her hand itches to throw it but she can’t until they’re around the corner-

Fear seizes Dorian’s chest and he yells back, “I am _not_ leaving you!”

_“Trust me!”_

Dorian takes a look between the door and her before running, pulling on Cassandra’s armor as he goes.

Suddenly the ground and the corpses go up in flames, sparks of electricity singeing through clouds of smoke. In the confusion, Subira slipped underneath them and ran, and the gate closing behind her. She lays her head back on the stone, grateful for a break.

And then a very spiky, deadly looking arrow nearly pierces her head and she squeaks, rolling to the side. “You have got to be kidding me!” She growls.

“You cannot win!” the Avvar atop the ramparts shout.

“Anita, careful! Those stairs are treacherous in this rain!” Cassandra calls out, but the girl pays her no mind.

The Avvar at the front begin to back up as they see her approach, but then the area goes up in smoke. Gurgling can be heard and scared shouts escape them, scrambling to escape the reach of the wraith dropping their numbers. When the smoke clears, there’s two less Avvar and one is stumbling, blood trickling from between his fingers.

_But Anita is down._

_“Anita!”_ Cassandra yells, already on her way up there. She stuns one of the Avvar, shoving her sword into his stomach and Dorian and Cole double up on the other.

Anita is struggling to stand. “I’m fine,” she hissed, trying not to bear weight on her bad knee. “It looks worse than it is. I packed some potions, I’ll take one and we can go.”

Dorian watches curiously as she downs a potion that is a strange color, and not one they brew at Skyhold. Anita is a curious thing and always left him with many questions. He never spoke with her about Redcliffe - truly, there wasn’t time. But the magic he saw in her was raw and unbridled. Perhaps... they can talk about it another time.

* * *

They leave the Fallow Mire with minimal injuries, the missing soldiers, and a new ally - the Skywatcher, Amund. Subira ends up needing a walking stick and her knee to be wrapped - go figure, of course it was worse than she said it was - but everyone else suffered only minor scratches and scrapes.

Subira sighs when they see Skyhold, beyond excited to wash up and lay down for awhile before she catches up on paperwork that contained source material too sensitive to relay over raven. As she walks through the main hall, Varric waves her over and she feels dread pass through her immediately, guessing her rest time would be delayed.

“Varric,” she says carefully. “Why are you back?”

He laughs under his breath. “We need to talk about our favorite red-lyrium crazed magister. Join me after you’re done cleaning up?”

She scowls, any resemblance of a good mood thoroughly replaced with agitation. “I’ll be back soon.”

She takes her time with her bath. She’s tired, covered in bruises, achy and smells. After the warm bath, she smells like rose and lemon and her hair is an unruly mess.

Taking a moment to truly look around her room, she gapes. “Oh, _wow...”_

“Does that mean you like it?” Josephine asks sweetly behind her, gently shutting the heavy door.

“You really worked hard while I was gone,” she notes with a soft smile, rubbing the orange curtains between her fingers.

Josephine must’ve remembered the conversation they had when she mentioned if she had had a choice in curtains, she’d wish them to be have two layers: one layer of those special blackout curtains in persimmon-orange and made of soft silk or cotton, at least, and underneath pale daffodil sheer curtains to let flow in the breeze when the other layer is pinned back.

Josephine has delivered tenfold. In front of her are thick, beautiful persimmon curtains that line the windows and tie back elegantly to reveal the sheer curtains she’d always dreamed of having. They have a beautiful trim of white lace and she clutches the end of it in her fist.

The Ambassador smiles broadly, marching over to a beautiful wardrobe made of dark wood, reminding her of the wardrobes she’d often be stealing from and always wanted in her faraway fantasies.

“Look at this,” she says, throwing the wardrobe open with an excited grin. “Madame Vivienne and I worked on these for you, we had the very best tailors here but some were commissioned and sent to us by harder to reach commissioners. Oh, I just cannot _wait_ to see you in this!”

Taking out a pretty navy blue outfit with tall boots made of thick, sturdy leather and a vest and gloves to match, she steps behind a changing divider while Josephine waits.

Moments later, she steps out from behind it. “Well? How do I look?”

The Ambassador smiles fondly. “You look wonderful, _querido.”_

Subira looks away, blushing at the affection. “Will you braid my hair?”

Josephine smiles again. “Of course, _Tesoro._ Come, sit on your bed and I’ll do your hair.”

And so they sat for however long it took to tame her unruly locks into shape, Josephine gently brushing and never pulling on her hair.

When her hair is braided nicely, she turns and smiles at Josephine. “Thanks, Josie,” she murmurs, leaning into her side hesitantly to give her a hug. Josephine hugs her back tightly.

“Always, _mija-“_

Both freeze. Josephine clears her throat. _“Anita._ Always, Anita.”

“Right,” Subira murmurs, pulling back.

* * *

When, grumpily, she descends the stairs of her large quarters and joins Varric, he explains to her that he an old friend had traveled to the Vinmarks and killed Corypheus a long time ago. Somehow, he’s still alive and that absolutely baffles Subira - _cheating death again and again has to be exhausting, right?_

“Good news though,” Varric grins at the end of their conversation. “I got word from my contact. She’s not too happy to hear that Corypheus has risen from his grave - she’ll be here as soon as she can.”

It also turns out that this ‘friend’ has Warden connections. Subira lays her head on her desk. _Leads, dead ends, and leads._ They get close to figuring out what happened to the Wardens - since they up and disappeared, with no word from any of them, only for it to be another month until they’ll know anything.

Currently she has a change of plans - she’s heading directly to the Western Approach to deal with the Venatori, because from Bull’s reports they’re organizing, and fast. They have aid requests from Emprise du Lion, the Exalted Plains and Crestwood, a small town equally as mucky as the Fallow Mire and similarly being assaulted by undead corpses.

She groans. She can’t be everywhere at once! There’s so many things to do, and with the War of the Lions only escalating and no peace talks in sight, she just doesn’t know how she’s going to do it. It’s Cloudreach now, and she worries about how to get everything done.

Frustrated tears fill her eyes. The sun has long set over Skyhold, and if she’s quiet she can make it to the stables to see her horse.

She’s startled by the image of Blackwall sitting on a bale of hay, quietly carving a piece of wood. The tears stained on her face give her away and she wipes them messily.

“Hey, lass,” he greets gruffly, but gently. “What’re ya doin up?”

She looks down. “I can’t sleep.”

He nods. “You and me both, lass. C’mere,” he motions next to him.

Subira sits down next to him and he places a piece of wood in her hands. “I know you carve,” he says without looking up from his own piece. “I want you to carve that piece of wood into what you fear the most.”

Her brow furrows. “I can’t carve what I fear. It’s not tangible.”

He laughs. “I didn’t ask that. I said carve what you fear. Carve it.”

They sit there into the wee hours of the night, carving into the wood with minimal talking. The piece in her hand begins to look like a scared figure with a sword through their chest and tears fill her eyes.

“Is that what you fear? Death?” He asks softly.

“No,” she whispers. “I fear others dying for me. _Failing.”_

He looks stricken. “I understand, lass,” he breathes deeply. “I understand.”

Breathing in and out, the tears clear. Staring at the carving, she remarks, “I feel... a bit better,” she admits.

He smiles under his bushy beard. “I’m glad.” He uses one hand to ruffle her braided head and she giggles.

“Now, how about we work on something else?” He waves a hand to a small half-finished toy in the corner. “I want to give back to the kids here. They deserve that much, at least.”

She smiles, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you, Blackwall. I’d love to. Let’s get to work before I’m dragged back to bed.”

He hugs her back with a startled laugh, but nonetheless gives her a great squeeze. “Anytime, kiddo. We have a horse to get carving.”

* * *

She’s studying from a book in the library on the practical uses of herbs in magic when Dorian sighs dramatically.

“Is something the matter?” She asks without looking up from the notes she’s taking.

“Oh, nothing,” he says distractedly, then focusing a stunning smile on his companion. “We haven’t really had time to speak since arriving here, have we? It’s been... complicated.”

She sighs, resting her head on her hand. “It has. I’m sorry we haven’t spoken, it’s been really tiring...”

He waves it off. “Don’t apologize. I’ve been agonizing over Corypheus and his claims of coming from the Imperium, that’s taken up most of my time.”

“Just because some a thousand year old Darkspawn claims he speaks for Tevinter doesn’t mean you had anything to do with this, Dorian,” she says without looking up, completing an alchemical sequence that Vivienne wrote up for her studies. Unknowingly, she’s been giving her inspiration for different alchemical and magical solutions. _Thanks, Viv._

Her very anxious friend fumbles on, “That’s the thing though! I feel as though I must claim responsibility. I mean, after everything you went through, bearing the weight as you do...”

“Dorian,” she says firmly. “No. You don’t have to take responsibility for things that aren’t your fault.”

He tries to protest and she hushed him. “Sh! No more. I won’t hear it, okay?”

He nods slowly, sitting down next to her. “Why would you need a book on... And alchemical formulas...?”

Subira snatches the book away. “It’s my studies. Madame de Fer has me solve them.”

He looks left and right, leaning in with a serious look, “You know, I wanted to talk to you about what I saw in-“

She places a hand over his mouth. “Dorian,” she says calmly. “I need you to never speak of what you’re about to say.”

He nods and she takes her hand off of his mouth. The questions he has are many, but she’s not ready to give up the answers.

“Let’s go plan for the Western Approach,” she suggests. “It’s going to be hot.”

Dorian groans, making her giggle. “Of course. You choose the most inconvenient travel places, Anita, I swear.”

“Tell the Venatori that!”

He considers this and then walks after her, tutting. “Perhaps I’ll file a complaint! The amount of outfits I’ve had to have commissioned as a result of our travels is _ridiculous.”_

“Let me know how your complaint is received, Dorian!” She giggles, darting down the hall and into the stairway.

* * *

Subira has been stuck in Skyhold for a week now. Today she will sit in judgement for the first time - beginning with someone she hasn’t thought of since before Haven fell.

“The accused, Magister Gereon Alexius...”

And while Josephine rattles off his crimes, she stares up. Her chin is angled away from him, she will not - cannot - give Alexius the time of day.

“How do you plead?” Josephine asks him.

He spits. “Another will come in my place. Nothing you do can stop the Elder One.”

Subira clucks. “You’re so boring, Gereon Alexius,” she leans forward in her throne, her face darkening considerably, looking around at the faces of her companions. Her world flashes between drenched in red and reality.

“For your crimes... The future you almost wrought on us...”

He starts struggling against the Inquisition Guards who hold him. “It worked? My spell, it worked?”

The Inquisitor’s stance goes rigid. “I declare your punishment tranquility. You will never use magic in a destructive way ever again. The rest of your days will be lived out in service to former Grand Enchanter Fiona.”

Gasps sound around the hall. Alexius blanches, stuttering out a response, “You can’t do that, I’m a _Tevinter Magister-!”_

She laughs darkly, the sound echoing in the large chamber of Skyhold. “Your country handed your life over to us to judge,” she stands slowly, walking in front of Alexius and pouting. “Abandoned by your _Master,_ your _country,_ and now this... it must feel awful to be so unimportant, _doesn’t it, Alexius?”_

He gnashes his teeth together and the soldiers holding him have to pull back. “You never should’ve been born! Your presence at the Temple was a mistake, a-“

She waves a hand. “Go on about how I was a mistake and this and that. Your ranting and raving is becoming boring.”

A hollow smile crawls over her lips. “Enjoy your stay here, Alexius.”

His howls of anguish echoing throughout the room, she turns her back on him. When the Inner Circle turn to Subira, the door to her chambers is clicking shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations  
> querido - dear/sweetheart  
> tesoro - dear/sweetheart  
> mija - daughter/my daughter


	39. Sold You the Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traveling and poking fun at Cass. What else could one need?

The next day they ride out for the Approach. Those she had stationed are returning and her party instead will replace them. She’s sure they’re going to be there for awhile, but it doesn’t bother her too much. She would rather time away from Skyhold than anything else, to pretend she isn’t the Inquisitor.

It’s harder than she thought, constantly re-reading correspondence as they ride.

Vivienne left her a concise but thinly veiled complaint in the form of a letter on what the previous group completed in the Approach:

> I hope this letter reaches you well, dear. Your choice of company has certainly been trying, as all trials are. Whilst you had our group stationed in the Approach, we put a stop to Venatori movement in the middle-East of the region. There is a strange ruin that we have deemed a high-risk area and will need to be investigated upon your arrival.
> 
> An Orlesian scholar was tracking the movements of a High Dragon. Truthfully, I cannot fathom why he would want to study the creature in the first place. However, you will be relieved to know that we did not have any personal contact with the beast, merely returned stolen supplies to the man.

At this part, she can practically feel Vivienne’s eye roll, but continues reading. 

> Completely out of his element and without a crew. But when he learned just who helped him, he did pledge his manor to the Inquisition. I am sure he’s still in the Approach, if you wish to engage him.
> 
> Be warned, my dear, there are numerous rifts in the Approach. Many dangers lurk at every turn, and there are reports of Dark Spawn sightings.
> 
> I pray for your safe return. Try and not lose your mind with our infuriating Altus, hm?
> 
> Your Dearest Companion,
> 
> Vivienne de Fer.

“Cass, read this,” Subira snorts, handing the Seeker the letter. “I didn’t know Vivienne had a sense of humor.”

The Seeker’s eyebrows raise with every line she reads. “Funnily enough, Anita, neither did I.”

“She doesn’t,” Dorian complains with a pout, adjusting his collar. “Such a vile _b-”_

Cassandra glares at him.

 _“-witch,_ of a woman,” he finishes, dusting off imaginary lint from his shoulder. He then looks at his small companion a little closer, hair messily tied back and dark circles under her eyes. “Are you alright, Anita?”

Gathering her reins tightly, she nods. “Yes,” her eyes become distant as she searches the area. “Just thinking.”

“You’re always thinking,” Dorian teases, his smile growing wider. “What could you have to think about, anyway? I thought this Inquisition was all about the fame for you,”

Varric laughs, waving off Dorian’s false accusations. “Of course she is, if she’s going to be an accomplished writer like _myself_ one day!”

Cassandra snorts with an unbelieving eyeroll. “Can you truly see her being able to sit down long enough to write?”

“That’s fair,” Subira says with a shrug, thinking of all the poetry she has written on small leaflets hidden away. “I don’t sit still for very long.”

“Perhaps you’ll be the first non-mage Magister the Imperium has seen,” Dorian says with mischief in his eyes. “You’ve certainly got the politics part down.”

Cassandra bristles as she always does when he Dorian jokes like that. “Over my dead-“

Subira groans loudly. “Guys, we’ve been traveling for less than a day. Can we wait for the _‘over my dead body’_ s until we’re there?”

“Whatever you want, Spitfire,” Varric smiles, turning harshly to mouth _‘Cut it out’_ to the other two.

Both pout and cross their arms sullenly like scolded children.

“Thank you,” she sighed, relishing in the silence aside from the chirping of birds and rustling of wind.

And then less than ten minutes later, Dorian insults Cassandra on her preferred choice of literature, and the cycle continues.

* * *

It’s late one night and she can’t sleep, so she decides to take a stroll around the perimeter. They have a considerable amount of time until they reach the Approach left and it wouldn’t do to have a weakness in the camp exploited in unknown territories.

_Some things never change._

But while getting up she notices Cassandra sitting by the fire reading a book. Which is strange, because anytime the Seeker has watch she never reads.

“Cass?” She calls out.

The woman startles, nearly dropping her book and a deep blush blooming across her cheeks.

“Anita!” The woman’s pitch is significantly higher than it would normally be, attempting to casually rest the book out of sight. “What are you doing up?”

The girl eyes her. “I was about to ask you that. Reading something interesting?”

The Seeker clears her throat, looking anywhere but her. “No, not really. Just some book I picked from the library before we left. I’m not even sure what the title is.”

Subira raises an eyebrow. “I see. Well, I’m just going to...”

She fakes a pass by Cassandra and then snatches the book, gasping at the front of it in mock-horror and absolute delight. _“No!”_

The woman stands, swiping for the book it but Subira darts away. “Anita! Give it back, it’s not appropriate for your age!”

Subira is nearly doubled over laughing as she attempts to stumble away from Cassandra with the book. “You read _Varric’s_ books! Not only that, his horrible smutty literature!”

Cassandra finally reaches the out of breath girl and snatches the book back. “It’s horrible... and _magnificent._ Don’t you dare tell him or I’ll never hear the end of it!”

A grin crawls across Subira’s face. “I won’t. Don’t worry.”

* * *

The next day during their journey, Subira turns to Cassandra. “Hey, Cass. Can I ask you a question?”

Guard up, the woman grunts her assent and Subira presses forward, “So, do Dorian and Bull have sexual tension?”

Cassandra nearly falls right off her horse, calming him down after he jumped sideways a bit. _“What?”_

Varric and Dorian are fighting wide smiles. “Yeah, I asked Varric why they look at each other like ‘that’ and why they flirt with each other but are mean about it, and Varric said it was sexual tension. But I don’t get it, and I figured you would.”

Sputtering, Cassandra tries to formulate a reply. “I - well, you see... Varric, _why_ would you tell her such a thing?!”

Varric finally gives in and laughs. “Because it’s true, and she’s at the age that she’ll know anyway!”

She laughs. “You should see your face, Seeker,” she clears her throat. “I mean, I know about the other stuff. But not this _romance-y_ stuff that they seem to have going on. And you’re really not that secretive, Cass, based on all the poetry you read I figured you’d understand.”

Face bright red, Cassandra clears her throat. “It isn’t about the ‘romance-y stuff’ as you so eloquently put it. It is about passion, being swept off of your feet! I suppose that is what Iron Bull and Dorian... ahem... have ‘going on’.”

Dorian laughs himself silly. “A good guess, my dear Seeker. But not quite. Bull is very good looking, _I_ am very good looking - it’s a wonderful match. We simply work.”

Subira cocks her head curiously. “But not romantically?”

Dorian sighs wistfully. “Perhaps, perhaps not. We will see where the future takes us.”

She shrugs, happy with the answers either way. “I don’t get romance, anyway. I’ve never loved anyone, and I’ve never seen actual love.”

Varric whistles. “Love is all around us, Spitfire! For instance, the Seeker and our esteemed Ambassador-“

 _“Varric!”_ Cassandra hisses, her cheeks redder than a tomato. “There is absolutely nothing going on with Ambassador Montilyet and I!”

“Sure, and nugs can fly,” the dwarf scoffs.

“Ignore him, Cass. Though, I’m sure Josie wasn’t just admiring the scenery the other day when she stopped to watch you spar...”

Cassandra’s cheeks darken again. “No more talk of this! You’re too young to have such... _thoughts.”_

Subira chortles, rolling her eyes. “What, sex thoughts? I’ve known about sex for a long time. Plus, my birthday passed, I’m sixteen now anyway. I just don’t see a point in it at the moment. Maybe I will when I’m older.”

“Let’s keep it that way for now, Spitfire,” Varric laughs, holding tightly onto his saddle and wiping tears from his eyes with one hand.

Dorian pouts, leaning towards their Inquisitor. “Not even romantically, my dear? You’ve had no interest in anyone?”

She thinks of Castelleta and her hair, the way she always smells of elfroot and crystal grace, the soft fabric of her nightshirt that often rubbed against her skin when they slept side-by-side. She thinks of promises of forever.

“No,” she replies, lost in memories of her best friend. “I never have.”

Dorian doesn’t seem to believe her, but a warning look from Cassandra and he stops talking.

After a few quiet moments, she really softly asks, _“so, do they actually? I’m still kind of confused.”_ And Cassandra groans loudly to Dorian and Varric’s loud laughter being carried away on the howling winds of the Approach.


	40. Everything I Say Is Nothing But The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Anita finally leap over that barrier. All it took was a life changing decision that's going to permanently change people, but hey, who's thinking about that? (Subira, probably.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny little filler before the long, important chapters in the Approach start. Y'all, I worked all summer on these :). I'm moving on to the other events right now, trying to get Crestwood and Adamant just right before I move on. But in the meantime, I've got plenty.

It’s Dorian she runs into a few nights later with her knees to her chest and staring into the fire. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for her.

“I’m... sorry about Alexius,” she says quietly. He blinks rapidly. “I...”

“Anita, my dear,” he soothes suddenly, startling her into looking up. In his eyes isn’t resentment or mourning, but forgiveness. “You went through more than anyone, any child, should have to. Your sentence was... warranted, honestly. I expected death."

"Death was too good for him," she replies near immediately and then grunts in frustration. She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “I just keep wondering if there was something I could’ve done differently. I... I just wanted him to feel the same fear I did. The same fear I still do.”

Dorian purses his lips and looks down, unsure.

Her chin wobbles and she says forcefully, like it's more for herself than him, “I’m _sorry,_ Dorian.”

“Why do you keep apologizing, little magister?”

She smiles weakly at that. “Keep calling me that and Cassandra will kill you.”

“Let the Seeker try,” he waves it off. “She’s no match for my beautiful looks.”

“I just feel... like I could’ve done better. I’m sorry. I can do better. I will.”

Her viridian eyes are wide but starkly serious, a promise laying itself out at his heart as a contract and practically forcing the pen into his hand so that he may see her live up to the expectations she has built for herself.

He meets her eyes, slowly forcing the pen and paper down. “It’s alright, Anita.”

Her guard breaks and cracks around the edges until it reaches the middle and she relaxes, taking a deep breath. “Tell me about Tevinter.”

“Well, it’s not much, but let me tell you about the tailors, _ugh,_ Minrathous had the most _marvelous...”_

* * *

After two weeks of traveling to the Approach, they finally arrive. She knows the minute they’re hours away from the first Camp because the lands of Orlais have become sandy and full of stones. _Everywhere._

And then they’re approaching the camp and she can finally refill her water and let her horse rest.

“Lace!” Excitement bubbles up in her and she waves at the dwarf examining notes over a table.

“Greetings, Inquisitor. Welcome to the Approach.”

“Somehow I expected it to be more... _approachable.”_

The dwarrowdam smiles, handing her a few choice papers from the spread before her. “If only it were, Your Worship. All humor aside, Venatori movement here has been staggered, but they’re still mobilizing.”

Looking them over carefully, Subira nods. “Got it! Thank you, Lace.”

“Anytime, Your Worship.” As Subira goes to pass by her, the dwarf sneaks a bag of candies into her hand with a smile.

Looking left and right, she presses a hand to the side of her mouth and whispers with a wink, “A gift from the Ambassador and I.”

Subira smiles brightly before remounting and regrouping with her companions. “We have much to do.”

“Cass!” The Seeker turns her head. “Take the lead for a bit, I’m going to read these.”

Cassandra does so without questioning and she dives into the mess of papers that Lace handed her. Mostly Venatori movement and rifts, but a small paper from Leliana is wedged in there.

A note of an unspecified date from Spymaster Leliana of the Inquisition, to the Inquisitor:

 

> _Darkspawn movement has been reported by Warden Blackwall. Scouts report sightings close to the camp near the abandoned Griffon Wing Keep._

There’s a few scribbled out lines that are unintelligible, but the last line says:

 

> _Come back safe, Inquisitor. We will see you soon._

She releases a deep breath. “Leliana reports Darkspawn movement. Everyone must be extra careful until we can block off their movement like we did on the Coast.”

“Hear ya loud and clear, Spitfire,” Varric says absently, writing as best as possible from the back of his pony.

“How are you writing and riding?”

He smiles. “Lots of practice, kid. I’m trying to describe you right now. You know, the whole _‘Herald, Savior of Thedas’_ thing you got going on is appealing to my audience.”

Her brows furrow. _“Me?”_

“Yeah, you. How you stand out against the environments we find you in,” he coughs. “Just anecdotes, you know. History will want to know what _went up_ in the Inquisition.”

Scoffing, she leans back in her saddle to place the various papers in her pack. “Oh? And what went up?”

He clears his throat. “Let me read you an excerpt...

 

> _“‘This shit could be worse’ was what most of us thought when the Herald was presented to our weary hearts and hungry eyes. Picking up the broken pieces of the world was not unfamiliar and we grumbled and got to it - it was just business. Our Herald, like you or me, knew this, and she stepped into it. She took to the role like glue, and everywhere she went this proved true - the kindness she shows for those who earn it and the cunning sharp wit of her tongue for those who don’t. But you aren’t here for that, you’re wondering - is she normal? Is she like us? Is she Andraste herself, come to purge the world of its wrongs? Well, let me tell you: the Herald is the most normal Saint ever named. Her thick brows are often drawn into a furrow, contemplating or worrying about what must be done. Her eyes, vibrant and swirling with the world of dreams, echo a certain type of loneliness that most have never known. Her hair is thick and known to be worn in elaborate braids or head wraps, often tangling in the mornings when she stumbles from her bedroll as the rest of us do. She’s as mortal as the rest of us, and yet the only one of us who can save the world.”_

Her throat is very dry after listening to Varric’s excerpt. “I... Thanks, Varric.”

The dwarf smirks but doesn’t look up. “It’s just what I see, kid. But remember it when the world isn't ending, eh?"

She laughs through the sudden wet eyes and stuck throat. "Yeah, Varric."

* * *

The fight for Griffon Wing Keep is gruesome and bloody. The Red Templar’s set up there refused to go down and repeatedly fell only to stumble back to their feet.

By the end of it they were all sweaty, covered in blood and sand and Subira had had enough of being near red lyrium.

“Clear the Keep,” she calls, hand over her mouth. “It belongs to the Inquisition now. I’ll send a raven to Skyhold for soldiers and agents to be moved here.”

Her companions all nod their assent, watching the bloodstained teenager tiredly thumb through leftover reports from Corypheus’ troops. There’s a notable crease in her brow and sweat tracks on her cheeks.

“Someone going to tell her to take a break?” Varric asks wryly, heaving a body over the side of the keep.

“You try before she’s good and ready,” Dorian scoffs. “That girl never learns.”

Cassandra throws the last body over the side with a grunt, placing her hands on her hips and huffing. “It is nearly dark. Let us camp here.”

The first night in Griffon Wing Keep isn’t as pretty or neat as it could be; there’s still sand and debris everywhere and puddles of blood, but it’s something. They go to the lower level and eat quietly around a small fire before laying out their bedrolls for sleep.

The only one who couldn’t was Subira, who wandered the still-hot stone pathways of the Keep, fingertips trailing against the walls. The mark is keeping her awake tonight - it has since they arrived in the Approach. Something isn’t quite right about the place, the veil too thin and in pieces where it shouldn’t be. It ebbs and flows, tugging at the mark and causing her discomfort.

It’s hard for her to hide it. But she’s getting better at it.

The mark has resumed crawling up her wrist, branches of green embedded in her veins and pulsing softly with her heartbeat. She forms a fist.

_They don’t need to know._


	41. And I'll Never Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adventures in the Approach ft. Horse! (I named the horse. My friend suggested it when I asked one day randomly in the car, and this is what we get.) More Subira backstory! Puzzle pieces, puzzle pieces...

It is suddenly decided by raven that Solas is to join them as well. She isn’t sure why or how he convinced them to allow it or what reason he could have, but it must be important. Reportedly, he leaves with the Inquisition Soldiers being moved to the Keep and will arrive soon, though in the meantime they will search for signs of Darkspawn and close the many rifts in the area.

And there are many rifts - so many in fact that nearly the minute they are further into the Approach she feels the bone-deep ache become a sharp pain similar to what she imagines a rock falling on a bone feels like. She’s sure if she were to look she’d see the lines crawling up her arm through her veins and scars, anywhere it can. But she prefers not to think about it. It’ll be over a month until Solas arrives, so she’ll put it off and wait until she can ask him about it.

There’s much to be done - _Varghest sightings near a potential water source,_ scouts report, along with multiple other things that need her attention. Included in her many, many reports are movement updates on Venatori action in a place called the Hissing Wastes, helpfully dealt with by a contingent of soldiers escorting the companions she had here in the Approach.

(With all the reading under the hot sun, she kind of wants to throw her head against the many rocks available to her.)

Dorian’s thoughtful hum from his horses back distracts her. They’ve just finished slaying and removing the last of the Varghest corpses.

Subira decides to indulge him, leaning towards his saddle. “What’s on your mind, o’ Altus-of-mine?”

“Did you say your birthday passed, Anita?” He asks thoughtfully, staring at his hands and plucking fake lint from his coat.

“You’re not normally this direct,” she remarks through narrowed eyes. “But yes, it must’ve.”

Varric regards her quizzically now. “How sure are you?”

“I mean... I was already born when I got to the Orphanage,” she replies with a small hint of confusion in her voice and a large amount of hesitance, “And - and as far as I know, I didn’t celebrate my birthday before that. At the Orphanage, there was no reason to celebrate _any_ birthday.”

Her trailed off words are met with silence. “What? What did I say?”

“You’ve never celebrated your birthday?” Dorian asked, a little bewildered and eyes far too wide for such a casual conversation.

One of her eyebrows raised and then comes together to furrow with her other one. “I... No? I mean, it’s never really... been an issue for me, since I don’t know what day I was born anyway. Does it matter?”

The two men clearly have objections stuck in their throats but Cassandra, ever the pragmatic voice of reason, steps in. “Cease your nagging! Hmph, you two are like flies. It is clearly no big deal to her.”

Grateful, Subira shoots the older woman a relieved look and receives a strange half smile in return. The woman looks oddly conflicted.

“Where are we off to now, kid?” Varric asks instead, wiping at sweat on his brow and frowning when it moves instead of being soaked into his rag.

“Darkspawn sightings in the area,” she informs him with a dramatic gag. “If I never have to see another Darkspawn, lyrium-infected thing or Venatori mage ever again I think it’ll be too soon.”

Varric grins and grimaces at the sand granules grinding on his lips. “You’re preaching to the choir here, Spitfire.”

“Quite right,” Dorian agrees easily, settling into his graceful posture that not even the Approach could disturb. “Couldn’t they be more creative? I mean, honestly. Red lyrium? _So_ last season.”

“You _never_ fail to entertain, Dorian,” she says teasingly.

He huffs. “Why of course. I live to serve, my dear,” he extends his hands with a flourish.

Cassandra only groans. “You encourage him far too much. His ego grows every day - I cannot tell who is supposed to be an adult out of the two of you.”

“On the contrary, my dear Seeker,” Dorian smirks, “my ego has _always_ been this big.”

She doesn’t reply, instead rolling her eyes. Varric laughs and mutters something about dialogue for his books.

Subira risks a look at her papers before looking back up and squinting at the bright sun reflecting off the sandy dunes, constantly shifting with the wind. Grains stick themselves to her eyebrows and eyelashes uncomfortably.

“After we check that out, there’s... “ she squints at the paper and holds her hand over her brow to block out the sun, “Some Tevinter ruin? Leliana’s people reported it as an area of interest and so did Vivienne. It’s nearby.”

“Perhaps we’ll find what that... what was it, draconologist? Asked for in this ruin,” Dorian laughs, eyes sparkling. “Tomes of some sort, wasn’t it?”

She shrugs the jest away, to Dorian’s disappointment. “Possibly? Who knows what Tevinter gets up to. No offense, Dor,” she apologizes, paying no mind to the face he makes at the nickname, “I’m not sure why the ruin is an issue, though I don’t think they could get close. We’ll have to see for ourselves.”

“And it’s not that far,” Cassandra adds in from her spot ahead of them, turning for a moment and then righting herself. “We can settle the Darkspawn and go right to this ruin.”

Subira cringes under the heat and takes a drink of, unfortunately for her short memory, stale-tasting warm water. She finds herself wishing for the soft winds of the ships she would find passage on or the waves of Rivain - even the ports, as chaotic as they are, of Antiva would be preferable to the barren wasteland of the Approach.

“Perhaps,” she murmurs to herself, looking out into the desert. “Perhaps.”

 _“Be wary,”_ she hears Dorian call out suddenly, taking her out of her sad musing. “Anita, there’s something ahead.”

“A Hurlock by the looks of it. Our mounts should stay here, we must be cautious.” Cassandra adds seriously.

“Alright,” Subira chirps, tying her horse to the saddle of Cassandra’s horse. “Perfect.”

Then she smiles, draws her weapons and prepares to engage.

“Heads up!” Subira yells, darting away in to the cover of the plumes of dust.

They’d never admit it, but each of her companions hold their breath each time she engages on a battlefield. They think she never looks where’s going, or calculates her moves, but _oh,_ she does.

She throws a bottle into the space where she had been standing. In seconds, it shatters upon impact when the arrow meant for her flies into it and smoke covers the field. She disappears only briefly before reappearing on the other side, surprising the archer that had set off her trick. The ghoul puts its focus on her and she hacks off the arm drawing the bowstring back.

It snarls, viscous black blood bubbling at the edge of its mouth and she wrinkles her nose at the sight. She finishes it off quickly, shaking her head to clear it of the chanting song that always seems to come off the Darkspawn.

“Kid!” Varric hollers, kneeling by... nothing?

Curiously, she walks over to see what he wants as he beckoned her closer. “What do you see here?”

She looks down, kicking her feet here and there. A bunch of sand. Oh, some glass! A piece of... unidentified desert-thing. Ew, is that a bone?

Varric is still looking expectantly at her when she looks back at him and she shrugs, “... Sand?”

 _“Tracks,_ Spitfire,” he elaborates, laughing a bit at her befuddled expression.

She scoffs. _“Tracks?_ Varric, how can you track in a _desert?!”_

The dwarf smiles secretly, the right amount of twinkle in his eye to pique her interest. “Let me show you.”

With Varric’s guidance, the trail she found seemed to come from some place to the west, so they - she, with Varric’s cryptic mumbling, which could be called guidance - followed the weird tracks in the dry land of the Approach and tried to figure it out.

A while of wandering and moving the horses from place to place, though Varric insisted he knew where he was going - and they finally found the source of the Darkspawn.

“This looks right,” Varric announces, already grasping his reins in one hand.

”Alright,” she slides off her horse with a practiced precision.

Subira rolls her bad shoulder out when she hits the ground, frowning at the soreness that still travels from her feet up to the joint every time she dismounts. She supposes she’ll never get used to it - or the way her leg slightly buckles underneath her now.

“Now you stay here,” she says to her steed sternly, one finger pointed at his muzzle. He blinks back at her. “I want no funny business while I’m gone, Ser! I’ll be _right_ back.”

He stares at her with a bored expression, lifting his head to snuffle at the accusing finger and then engulfing it between his lips before spitting it out. His ears flicker back and forth slowly once, twice.

“Aha!” She decides triumphantly. “I’ll take that as your agreement.”

Varric, Dorian and Cassandra all tie their horses to a nearby bush, the thick desert branches sturdy enough to keep them there if they decide to leave for a stroll. They each look at the teenager scolding her horse with confusion.

“Uh, Spitfire? You gonna tie him up?” Varric hesitantly calls, lingering by Hyundai.

“Nah, Varric!” Subira whistles happily as she’s walking away and only looks back at Hyundai once. “He’ll stay there - he understood. Like a Mabari, that one.”

Behind her, Hyundai lifts up a foot and shifts, but doesn’t move. Varric nods with an encouraging smile before trading _‘what?’_ expressions with Dorian as they pass each other.

It’s dark, humid and sweaty. Blood, grit and sweat feel like a second skin. The song singing in the disgusting blackened blood is giving her a headache by the time Dorian strikes the last ghoul down. The air feels thick, like swallowing gulps of a wool blanket. It’s oppressive and Subira really, really wants to leave. But she has to figure out a way to temporarily fix this problem first...

There’s several large beams of wood and a few extra large boulders close to the huge hole where the Darkspawn dug out from. Probably big enough to hold them, right?

Varric scoffs a little exasperatedly when he sees her gaze. “Is that what we’re using?”

She rolls her eyes and practically growls, “Do you have any better ideas?”

Varric doesn’t scoff again, but he rolls his eyes right back.

Subira clears her throat. “Dorian, would you do the honors?”

“My dear, I’d be delighted,” the mage smiles whimsically, hands lighting up bright, electric blue all the way up to his elbows.

And so, with a dramatic flourish the wood and boulders are lifted to the hole that the Darkspawn used to get through, perfectly placed and snug. Subira resists the urge to stick her tongue out at Varric.

Dorian lets out a deep, tired sigh and wipes off his forehead, but he seems fine, so she continues to check out the walls while she thinks.

“That should keep them away for awhile,” she comments absently, fingertips grazing the jagged edges of the wall. “Though, I think we should place patrols just in case.”

“A fine idea,” Cassandra praises quietly, adjusting her misaligned gear. “It will be done.”

“How much time do we have left today?” Subira asks, peering at the sky. “I want to get in those ruins and see what the fuss was about. Do you think we’ll have time if we aren’t stopped?”

Dorian looks contemplative as he fusses with his hair. “Possibly, Anita. It certainly won’t hurt to try.”

They see the cogs turning in her brain as she exits the cave, beginning the short walk back to their mounts.

When her companions exit the cave behind her, they’re greeted by her fist in the air, immediately followed by her throwing her arms around the horses neck.

She begins cooing to the horse, “I knew you’d stay! Who’s my good boy? I bet I’ve got some sugar candy for you in here...”

 _“Son of a - Hawke’s Uncle,”_ she hears Varric mutter behind her. “The damn thing stays still.”

“Did you ever doubt Hyundai?” She pouts at her steed and strokes him gently while leveling a joking glare at Varric.

“H - _who?”_ Dorian asks, taken aback. His mouth goes through multiple different wordless motions before he finally settles on, “What is that blasted things name?”

 _‘Hyundai’,_ for his part, only pushes at the girl when she forgets to give him his promised treat, seemingly forgetting the difference in size and nearly pushing her off her feet.

“Okay, okay! Pushy boy,” she says fondly, feeding him the sugar candy. Loud crunching noises come from his mouth, happily and noisily consuming the sugary treat. “That’s all you’re getting because I don’t know when we’ll have more out here. Gotta ration, you know?”

The horse gives no indication of his understanding as he rubs his face on her side and makes her stumble again, but Anita grins happily and hugs him.

“Of course you do,” she says in a mushy voice. “Because you’re the smartest horse around! Aren’t you? Aren’t you!”

Cassandra leans over to Varric to whisper, “has she always had this attachment to the animal?”

Varric, steadfastly writing it all down and close to snapping his own wrist in the process, replies from the corner of his mouth: “probably, Seeker. Just let it happen.”

The Seeker grunts her reply, probably meaning some form of agreement meant to end the conversation, though it’s just as likely it was just a substitute for having no words to say.

Dorian gazes warily at the horse, probably fearing for his robes. “He isn’t going to slobber all over me, is he?”

Said animal is licking all the way up to the girl’s shoulder and nuzzling into her neck, causing giggles to erupt from her. “No - _ah, not there, you ass! I’m ticklish!_ \- he won’t, he’s kind of... prickly with other people.”

 _“Prickly?”_ Cassandra echoes disbelievingly, untying and mounting her own horse. “The stablehands are afraid to go near him! Only Ser Dennet and his daughter can touch the beast.”

Mounting Hyundai, Anita gasps and leans forward until she’s near his ears, stretching nearly out of her saddle and reaching to place her hands over them. “He’s just being temperamental! He won’t actually do anything,” she admonishes to Cassandra disbelievingly, and then whispers to Hyunai, “Don’t listen, darling boy. You’re _not_ a beast.”

Hyundai shakes his head back and forth, releasing a snort after Anita yelps and scrambles back to the saddle.

“I see nothing proving them particularly wrong, Anita,” the woman eyes Hyundai with distrust.

“Well, he’s got a gloriously shining coat-“ because Anita doesn’t go to bed without brushing him thoroughly, “-and wonderfully regimented muscles,” she pokes at one of his veiny shoulders, a testament to his healthy body, “Really, everyone should be _jealous_ of him.”

A shit-eating grin crosses Varric’s face for a moment - one which he wipes off so he can say in a serious tone: “Yeah, Seeker, I don’t know... I’m pretty jealous of uh, Hyundai, over there.”

Dorian shares a look with Varric, and in the face of such outstanding peer pressure he clears his throat. “His mane is looking quite silky, if I do say so myself...”

Cassandra’s growing confusion finally erupts out of her in an exclamation. “Are we seriously considering-“

Varric leans over as far as he can from his horses back and thumps Cassandra’s armored arm. Immediately she turns to scold him, but quiets when she follows where his finger points.

Anita is smiling brighter than they’ve seen the entire time they’ve been in the Approach, chatting animatedly with ‘Hyundai’ and Dorian, stroking her steed’s withers gently while they wait. Her eyes are vibrant and the tension in her shoulders has dropped to make way for excitement.

“Oh,” she murmurs faintly, the tension in her own shoulders dropping before tensing again. _“Oh.”_

“Yeah,” Varric replies with a snort. He returns the familiar journal back to his pack before picking up the reins with a shake of his head.

The Seeker clears her throat. “Let us begin our route to the ruins. I do not care to be out when the Approach’s creatures come out in the dark.”

“Hyundai and I will lead the way!” Anita declares, urging him into a canter with her calves and laughing at the startled faces of her companions left behind her.

They also push their mounts into a fast pace, chasing after their wayward charge.  Cassandra groans and shouts for the girl to slow down while Dorian complains about his hair tangling in the wind.

 _“Come on, slowpokes!”_ her voice echoes ahead of them on the dry desert walls.

The only one with a shred of calm is Varric, trying not to worry and rationalizing that she can take care of herself and that coddling her will only make her upset.

And then his heart stops momentarily when he hears her startled yelling about a hundred paces later.

She had arrived around the corner first and they had tried to be easy on their mounts - until Anita _screamed_ into the Approach, her voice scattering like grains of sand on the wind.

Dread filled Cassandra and erupted from her viscerally in a shout, spurring her horse forward with Dorian and Varric hot on her heels. Their horses are panting heavily, signifying the rest they’ll need when this ordeal is over.

When they finally turn the corner, Anita’s horse is standing right outside the building - without a trace of his rider except the barely settled dust and barely-there footprints.

The seconds as they frantically search for her stretch on until they hear struggling behind some boxes. Crates are piled in front of the horse and a magical barrier is set over the entrance, but no one can be seen.

Cassandra practically leapt from her horse, not caring to tie it to anything. She stormed towards the sound with her sword and shield drawn, trusting the other two to be following.

The Venatori soldier has Anita cornered into some boxes, a sword to her neck and her eyes squeezed shut. Two more Venatori stand a couple feet away, poorly standing guard.

They arrive for the end of his sentence, watching him just barely dig the tip of his sword further into dark skin. “... could cut it off right now to bring to the Master. How important would the Herald of Andraste be _then?”_

Anita snarls something in Rivaini, but surprise flickers across Varric’s face for a moment. The man looks up briefly, when Varric, skidding in the shadows, throws a rock in his direction, meeting Anita’s eyes assuredly.

A second before she makes the move, Cassandra knows it’ll be this that kills him. Because then Anita’s dagger is impaled in the Venatori’s stomach and his blood is all over her angry face, tears glittering in fearful eyes. He drops his own weapon, fighting the choked gasp that forces its way out of his mouth.

 _“Ya mere nzuzu,”_ she hisses, eyes bright with anger, “find your Master in the Void.”

She twists her blade deeper, satisfaction flickering across her face when he gasps in agony and then she shoves him backwards roughly. He doesn’t get back up.

The next man, who was approaching for combat with Cassandra, does not even see the small but strong fist flying at his helmet. He stumbled and turned to retaliate before she hit again, splitting open her knuckles on the metal. She presses forward with a cry and slams her blade down to the hilt in a gap in his neck.

The wound gushes horrifically and tears as she pulls out her weapon and goes to assist Dorian and Varric with the mage, locked in a battle-lust haze, but a heavy gauntleted hand on her shoulder stops her. She jolts away, breathing heavily and black spots dancing in front of her vision.

The mage finally falls to Dorian’s delight and they turn to join them. Cassandra turns to Anita.

 _“Never_ do that again! Do you hear me? _Never!_ That is an _order,_ Inquisitor!” Cassandra rants angrily, swiping away tears that had formed unbidden. _“Anything_ could’ve happened to you!"

Turning, now they can see her eyes, swimming in unshed tears. They’re bright with sadness and fear and anger, burning with such an intensity that hadn’t been visible to them before.

“Right, I forgot, we all know what I’m needed for,” Subira reacts emotionally, green sparks from the Anchor flaring through her glove, ”I’ll be more careful with other peoples property next time!”

Cassandra breathes in deeply and opens her mouth to continue arguing her point, but Varric lays a stilling hand on her armor. They can both see the slight tremor that the girl can’t keep down. Anita has her arms crossed tightly across her chest and her eyes cast to the ground.

“How did they corner you like that?” Varric prods gently.

Her face flushes bright red. “I _thought_ I could find a good vantage point and wait for you guys to get here. But they set wards, knew I was here instantly and..”

The girl trails off, either unable to summon words to say or simply refusing. Cassandra clearly has more to say about the situation and Anita looks ready to bolt.

“Let’s move on.” He suggests helpfully.

The tense air awkwardly diffuses. They don’t talk on the way to the entrance or when Anita wordlessly stuffs the tome that the draconologist had asked for into her bag.

During the search of the ruins Anita gets hurt three times, sweat making loose hairs cling to her face and dry blood cracking all over her skin. Her knee continuously buckles beneath her, but when Cassandra tries to give her a hand she snarls and charges forward, determined to make it herself. Her companions, sweaty and tired, try not to overtly express their concern for fear of agitating her.

When time begins moving again and the rift is ready to close, her legs fall out from under her and it’s only Cassandra’s reflexes that stop her from hitting the ground while it closes.

Anita slacks against her when the connection cuts off, breathing hard and her skin fever-hot and sickly. Her nails are dug into her own palm hard enough to create half-moon crescents. Her eyes flicker open and shut and roll around, her body almost convulsing and her marked arm clutched in a vice grip to her chest.

Cassandra looks down in horror as the girl twitches in her arms, the mark causing her to cry out or whimper in random intervals. She tries to get a better look at the arm pressed to Anita’s chest but the girl, for her part, shows she’s at least half in control of her limbs and tries to worm away.

 _“Don’t..._ Arianne,” she warns half-heartedly, glaring with cross-eyes. “I’m telling you... I know a Spymaster who will...”

“Anita, it is Cassandra. Can you hear me? Are you alright?” the woman taps on her cheek none-too-gently and speaks loudly in an attempt to get her conscious.

The girl squints up at her with little-to-none lucidity. _“Cassandra?”_ She squints harder and then relaxes, waving a hand limply. “No, you’re not Cassandra. Cassandra doesn’t even _like_ me.”

“What?!” Cassandra exclaims, tugging the girl tighter in her surprise. “Where - where would you even get that idea?”

“All I do is annoy her,” Anita under her breath, but matter-of-factly. “... said I was the problem... wonder what you’d think if you saw... all this...”

Cassandra, at Anita’s unknowing admission, closes her eyes and exhales deeply. It had reached a hand into her chest and pulled hard enough to burn.

The woman sighs, brushing aside some hair in the girl’s face. “Anita, you need rest first and foremost. But...

She looks down at the mumbling, delirious child and is suddenly overcome with a wave of affection. “I... I have never been good at talking. At words. You’re-.”

“... you’re dead...” Anita mumbles distantly, halting the words spilling from Cassandra’s mouth. “... not... real...”

“Dorian?” she asks helplessly, looking between the two of them.

He shakes his head, the light of the Anchor in the dimly lit ruin highlighting the worry plainly written across the lines of his face.

“The only one who can help will be Solas. We must bring her back to rest, now. He can’t be far. A day or two at most? We do not know when she’ll wake. Come, Seeker, let us leave this place.”

His tone carries an urgency that encourages Cassandra to force her limbs to move, to stand with Anita in her arms. Cole appears next to them as she walks, murmuring a song in Orlesian that she’s heard Leliana sing to her ravens before. It seems to calm Anita, the tightly clenched muscle of her jaw slackening ever so slightly. Varric hovers by her side, looking up worriedly at the pinched look of fear on the girl’s face.

“Are any of us going to bring up her sleeping activities?” Varric demands as they reach the entrance of the ruin, kicking something that Cassandra cannot see aside so she can get by without an issue.

“She has nightmares as any child might, Varric,” Cassandra huffs impatiently, rearranging the slumbering teenager in her arms briefly before continuing.

Varric scoffs and it scrapes on the back of his throat. “No, Seeker. You’ve seen it - I know you have. She thrashes in her sleep and it’s like - it’s like she’s possessed. _She’s going to the Fade._ You _know_ she is. Is it - Is it the mark? Is it-“

“I don’t know!” Cassandra snaps, and then inhales sharply. “Varric, I know as little as you do. Non-mages don’t go to the Fade in their dreams, not truly-“

“My ass! _Clearly_ she’s a special case!” Varric guffaws, looking to Dorian for help, who rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s all speculation, really, there’s nothing that _can_ or _can’t_ say-“

“We can ask Solas when he arrives,” she grunts, ending the discussion and handing the girl off to Dorian so she may mount. He stumbles with her weight for a moment before righting himself and passing her back to the warrior who holds her arms out expectantly.

The burning sun sets as they ride across the Approach. Every now and then Anita shifts with a mutter or a frown, but she sleeps mostly in content, not knowing where the girl traveled in her sleep.

* * *

The Fade is strange and singing, echoing with warped noises all around her like a cave with no walls. The visage of an old acquaintance unnerves and distresses her, but she is trapped; surrounded by branches and thick, gnarled roots wrapped tightly around her limbs.

 _“You’re dead! You’re dead and you aren’t coming back!”_ Subira cries out in frustration, already feeling her energy waning from maintaining solid, coherent thought. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

A smug grin forms in the dark corners of her mind and the feeling of being _prey_ intensifies. _“How cute. You think I’m not real? Think hard, dear, I’ve been here.”_

A stark feeling of fear and recognition hits her - the awful feeling behind every vivid nightmare she’s had during their trip to the Approach, every restless or sleepless night.

The scenery around her changes in a dizzying and nausea inducing snap. She knows where she is immediately: it’s Summer in Antiva City, above one of the Crow hideouts.

A hideaway for just them.

Another, younger Arianne sits across from her, blonde hair pulled back into a bun. She has a fading bruise over her right eye and a familiar scowl set on her face, one that almost never left.

_Do you remember this?_

The Second Arianne’s mouth doesn’t move, but somehow the words are still spoken hauntingly.

“We’re the bottom of the barrel, you know that?” Past-Arianne says, scoffing with a glance to Subira’s injuries - a split lip and hastily healed, bruised nose. “We’re what no one wanted. It’s why we have to stick together, right?”

“Right,” falls softly from her lips before she can find the will to prevent it. Her dread says run, run, run.

Past-Arianne beamed then, barely wincing from the bruise over her eye. “I knew you’d get it. We’re the same, you and I. Fuck-ups. You know, we could do it... we can do anything-“

And then in a horrifying twist the other girl suddenly doubles over, gasping for breath. Despite the fact that Subira knows what is going to happen, that she’s seen it so many times in her dreams before; she still struggles against her bonds, the hands of Templars feeling fresh on her skin.

Blood bubbles at the corner Arianne’s lips and her skin rapidly pales.

 _“Please!”_ Subira cries. The roots - _the Templars_ \- only hold her tighter. _“Let me help her!”_

The thing taking Arianne’s form shakes it’s head with an evil laugh. _“You could not help her then, and you cannot help her now. How does her blood on your hands feel, Herald?”_

Past-Arianne falls to her knees, eyes wide and reaching out for Subira. Her eyes say things that her mouth won’t, like _loyalty_ and _why_ and _I don’t want to die._ Templars surround them now, a hand to her chin and his cruel blade to her throat.

But she _does_ die. He shreds her throat open cruelly and with no remorse, dropping her as if her skin burned through the metal of his armor. Her blood sprays across Subira’s face. She screams as the warm, wet rain hits her, cries becoming incomprehensible and the taste of copper on her tongue makes her gag.

And then Arianne lays dead on the ground in minutes, eyes glassy and staring up at nothing with twigs stuck in her hair. The second Arianne walks towards her dead-body with a pout, kneeling by her almost curiously.

 _“I will destroy you! I’ll send you to the deepest parts of the Fade for this, demon!”_ Subira shouts, chest heaving.

Tears sting the corners of her eyes and mingle with the sweat she remembers feeling on her skin. Her eyes closed, trying to escape the image, but it chases her even there.

 _“So naive,”_ it smiles mockingly, and then sneers. _“They revere you as Herald? You, a broken thing?”_

 _“If you’re here for Corypheus, you’ll have to try - try harder than this! I know what I am!”_ Subira sneers half-heartedly, out of breath.

The entity wearing Arianne’s face smirks, fingers ghosting the girl’s cheek and Subira freezes in place.

 _“Oh, but I already know everything I need to about you,”_ the vision cooed. _“You’re a thief, a liar, and a manipulator. How long until you betray this Inquisition? Betray them all?”_

A sob bursts out of Subira’s chest and Arianne laughs. _“Oh, what’s wrong_ _my_ friend? _You used to be much better with the truth. How do you think they’d react if they knew why you were at the Conclave?”_

Subira jerks in her bonds, eyes wild. _“You... know why? Tell me!”_

Arianne smiles. _“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know? No,” the visage of the other girl tuts. “That’s not yours anymore..._ Subira. _Or is that not your name anymore?”_

She spits at the demon weakly in response.

‘Arianne’ snickers, drawing the sharp tip of a dagger lightly over her tattoo, the sharp sting causing a whimper to leave her mouth. _“Does the truth hurt,_ corvo?”

Subira snarls and spits like a rabid dog, straining against the bonds without mind for the dagger. _“Do not call me that!”_

Cole appears by her side in a swirl of blue and white smoke. He looks straight at Arianne, big-brimmed hat covering his wide eyes. The other Being stares back, almost amused.

 _“Oh look, the boy who couldn’t,”_ Arianne laughs with glee. _“I wonder what you’re going to do, hm?”_

 _“It’s not real,”_ he murmurs, taking her marked hand in his. _“Do not listen. It is Fear. It wants you to hurt.”_

Arianne, Fear, whoever it is, ignores Cole pointedly and continues on. With a piercing - _no, probing, just like Arianne did_ \- stare only for her. _“You would listen to a spirit who does not even know who - or what - he is, over your_ friend?”

Subira tries to answer, to reply that _she is not Arianne_ and that _Arianne and her weren’t even friends,_ but the Fear seems to have stolen her voice from her throat.

The Fear pouts. _“Does it hurt that they don’t trust you, Subira?”_

And then the voice is right in her ear, so soft it brings a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. _“That you’re still all alone?”_

 _“That’s... that’s not true,”_ she counters weakly, her chin wobbling.

Cole hums in Orlesian under his breath and she’s calmed by it, if only for the reminder of Castelleta.

A familiar tugging on her consciousness begins, which is her only warning before a bright light flashes. And then Solas is there, his normal smug look replaced with eyes wide and worried.

His eyes trail from the Fear standing before them in the form of a teenager with a calm, almost smug expression, to Cole, steadfastly by her side and then her: trapped in corroded, dead tree roots that sometimes become Templars with great, hiccuping sobs erupting from her.

Cole says something in Elvhen that requires too much context for Subira to translate right that moment, when her thoughts are so scrambled - and Solas snaps to work. He shakes slightly, a barely noticeable tremor, looking up every now and then to inspect the tear tracks on her cheeks. She sniffles and her lip quivers, but she refuses to cry anymore while Solas is here.

The Fear laughs heartily, no longer staying in a solid form. What never was a teenage girl now has dark smoke pouring from half of it’s head and a sinister smile on one side of it’s cruel mouth, teeth long, sharp and unnatural looking.

And then it drifts closer, drawling, _“Interesting... Solas, you have also chosen the path of loneliness. Perhaps you could share it with_ lethallan.”

The roots snap with Solas’ harsh flinch and the voice laughs before the presence disappears completely.

 _“Remember my words, pretty one,”_ it says coyly, causing her to bristle and Solas to step in front of her. _“I’ll leave you and your... wolf.”_

The Fear vanishes and finally Subira’s legs give out, leaving her to look despondently into the Fade around her. It wavers and tries to take shape into something solid, but her thoughts are scattered and she can’t focus. Blood and gore flash in the hazy reality of the Fade, echoing screams and snippets of faraway conversations playing like old shaperate records she’s heard of before.

Solas kneels next to her slowly, as if he fears startling a wounded animal. _“A fear demon... Inquisitor, are you-“_

 _“Call me Anita!”_ Subira snaps, her voice tear-laden and cracking with thousands of layers of hurt. _“I’m not the Inquisitor!”_

_“Anita. Are you unharmed? Are you ready to wake up?”_

She laughs wetly. _“Yeah,”_ She sniffles and wipes her nose. _“I’m ready to wake up.”_

He doesn’t question her and quietly takes both her hands in his, guiding her to consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor translations  
> ya mere nzuzu - stupid/your mistake in Rivaini/what I chose for Rivaini which is Igbo, based on another writer.  
> corvo - crow  
> lethallan - elvhen, from the dragon age translations, meaning a casual reference to someone who is familiar/close to the person.


	42. Now That You're Here...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traveling and character interaction! Basically an excuse to have the adults pick on each other. It's entertaining, not gonna lie. They're each vying for Anita's attention and she's like 'guys. guys look at this bee'.

She’s greeted by the dry humidity of the Approach and a dark tent roof. Her back is cushioned and her head is on the softest thing she’s ever laid her head on... _she’s definitely taking this with her._

Unfortunately, waking up on the other side of the tent is Solas. Cassandra paces at the front of the tent.

“Oh,” is all she can manage, her head falling back onto the pillow. She feels tired and fatigued.

Solas sits up and crosses the short distance to pick her hand up, already glowing and angry looking, to try and calm it.

The mark pushes back against him violently, pain flaring up all the way into her shoulder.

She tries to yank her hand away, tugging and curling her fingers. “It hurts, Solas! _Stop!”_

Cassandra immediately steps forward. “Solas?”

The mage ceased trying to calm the mark and instead inspects it with a worrying furrow in his brow, frowning when it sparks and hits him. “It appears the Approach is too much stress for the mark.”

Cassandra nods worriedly, going back to pacing.

“Was the Veil damaged or warped?” He asks gently, trying to get the mark to stop sparking. It causes more wincing and low whines of pain from the girl.

“Yes,” Subira answers with an uncomfortable wince. Her fingers curl and her muscles tense as she attempts not to react to the pain from his prodding. He frowns at the tensed state of her muscles. “In the Ruins, it was like - a failed replica of the time magic Alexius was studying. Everything there was frozen solid. Even the rift.”

He shakes his head. “It will fix itself, but the damage to the Veil in the Approach is harmful to the mark and consequently, the Herald. She will be fine - it will simply have to be monitored. A cool down, if you will. _No more_ than three rifts a day.”

Cassandra nods solemnly, deep in thought. He goes to leave and gently pats the woman on the upper arm. “Do not worry, Seeker. She will be fine.”

Dazed and a little more than ready for a lecture, she opens her mouth to half-ass an apology when Cassandra barrels her into a hug. She squeezes her tightly enough to pull her back together and Subira hugs her back hesitantly, tired arms trembling and finally fully embracing her. She lays her head upon her breast bone and closes her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to-“

Cassandra cuts her off. “It is alright, Anita. I know you did not mean to. I...” she rubs the back of her neck, not having thought this far.

“I know, Cass. Thanks.” She punctuates her sentence with another hug.

Cassandra holds on for a few extra moments before she goes to leave, ordering her to rest up and not leave her cot.

_Which is obviously a challenge any other time._

Tonight, though, she is tired. Rather than walk the Fade, she dreams of things she barely remembers and breathes a sigh of relief for that fact when she wakes.

 _We should bring that tome to the researcher,_ she thinks absently, reaching for her bag and finding it significantly lighter than a bag that contains a tome should be. An undated note is folded up neatly at the bottom in Cassandra’s script: 

> I sent the tome to be delivered to the researcher while you were ill.

Subira walks out of her tent with a smile on her face and the note in her hand.

“You found it, then?” Cassandra asks, not looking up from a raven she’s attending to.

“I did,” Subira confirms, peering up at the Seeker with a small, thankful grin.

“Hm, how funny,” the Seeker murmurs. “The draconologist has requested our aid in translating the tome.”

The teenager nods thoughtfully. “I think we can do that. Actually - if Dorian sat down with an Ancient Tevinter book and the draconology tome, I’m sure he might have some luck.”

Dorian yawns as he exits his tent, his hair slightly unkempt and sticking straight up in some places. “What are we sure I can have luck with? Aside from anything, of course.”

“Translating an Ancient Tevinter draconology tome,” Subira replies.

The man winces. “Too many words so early in the morning,” he shudders, moving to the fire to get some warm food.

Subira looks up at the sun, just barely in the sky. “Dorian, it’s not that early.”

“To me, it’s always early, darling,” Dorian grumbles, forcing himself through the sand to stand next to her.

“Noted, _rich boy,”_ she teases.

He gasps. “Well, if that’s how you feel, I might just have to tell you I won’t translate that tome!”

Dramatically, she clutches her chest, falling to her knees. “Dorian, you’ve wounded me. Anything but that, please, I beg you!”

He turns his chin up, a wobbling smile on his face. “The damage is done, I’m afraid. I can _never_ translate another tome again!”

The two of them burst into giggles and laughter respectively, earning a fond eye roll and disgusted noise from Cassandra, still looking through letters as she breaks her fast.

When they’ve settled down, Dorian takes a deep breath. “Let us go meet with this man, hm? I’m sure this tome will not take so long.”

And _not so long_ turned into a two day activity, from clearing traps to bandits and then placing bait, of all things - Cassandra’s eyes seem like they’re going to pop out of her head, Dorian then suggesting that perhaps they turn back and leave that to the draconologist and her seconding that - and ending with the Abyssal High Dragon herself coming to pay them a visit.

Similarly to the Ferelden Frostback, when she lands on the sandy terrain, her eyes narrow on Subira immediately. Electric green flashes over her eyes briefly, causing something like a current to travel through the girl. Then the dragon screeches and the previously stunned party jumps into action.

“Protect the Inquisitor!” Solas shouts, throwing a barrier over her.

A large piece of rock goes hurtling over her head seconds later.

“Let’s get this done, guys!” Subira calls, pulling her daggers.

Inside, she’s a bit sad. She dislikes killing them.

_I am sorry, friend. Please forgive me._

Her whole body aches by the end of the fight and the sun is setting, allowing a chill to fall over the Approach as the wind begins howling. Frederic joins the Inquisition and she waves him on with a tight smile, the Agent who escorts him to the next camp giving her a betrayed look.

( _Subira sees it as survival of the fittest - and that man will not survive if she has to listen to him ramble about dragon migration patterns for much longer while she’s hungry, covered in blood and tired._ )

The only reason she stops to get the grit and blood off is because Varric and Solas make her, sitting with her and gently scrubbing it off of her arms, legs, neck and face while she nods off in a sitting position. She practically stumbles off to bed when they finally decide she’s clean enough, like two appraising mother lionesses deciding whether or not a cub has been groomed properly. It’s a rare night where she feels herself drifting off as soon as her head hits the pillow.

_Brimstone... Smoke... Old, knowing eyes...  
_

_Her_ eyes.

She startles into a half sitting position, breathing quick and pulse racing. A harsh breath is pushed through her nose and mouth and she flops back down onto her bedroll, staring up at the ceiling of the tent.

_Those eyes..._

“Are you alright?” Cassandra asks from across the tent, her voice thick with sleep.

Subira debates on how to answer her question. “I’m okay,” she settles on.

The other woman seems to take it and it’s silent for a long while.

“You did well today. The flanking move that helped us keep her grounded was well executed,” Cassandra speaks up suddenly, startling Subira with her apparent state of consciousness.

Subira smiles faintly. “Thanks,” she murmurs. “At least this one wasn’t without you, huh?”

Her mentor and - questionably considered - one of her guardians chuckles. “There is that. Goodnight, Anita. Should you wake up again, do not hesitate if you need me.”

Subira whispers her reply and lays down for sleep, but the flash of green over the dragons eyes won’t leave her head.

The next morning, a raven arrives for the Inquisitor from Leliana, and Subira waves on Cassandra to open it, stumbling out of the tent with little-to-no sleep and fumbling for water. There’s no way she can read anything that requires actual thought right now.

Cassandra’s normally neutral expression becomes slightly troubled.

Cassandra clears her throat and tucks the missive under her arm. “We must halt our expedition here. There is information on the Wardens... _Hm, she doesn’t mention..._ Regardless, we must return to Skyhold post-haste.”

In slow, tired movements, Subira begins gathering everything she needs.

Picking up a piece of hardtack and shoving it into her mouth, she speaks around it. “Where after that?”

“It does not say,” Cassandra informs her, checking the scroll again before putting it away and beginning her preparations to depart. “And _chew_ first, would you? Josephine will kill me if you come back acting like a common soldier.”

Subira rolls her eyes, but since her mouth is full of hardtack - the edible equivalent of what she assumes eating rocks is like - she can’t actually retort that she’s always acted like a common soldier. The look itself draws a snort out of Cassandra.

Cole did not appear again that morning, leading her to assume that someone at Skyhold needs him. Solas is sketching in a small book, Dorian is preening himself and the Inquisition Scouts hustle around, making the camp a lively place. A fire burns and food is intermittently on and off as Scouts come in and out of the camp.

“Has anyone seen Varric?” she asks suddenly, looking left and right for an incredibly smug dwarf with chest hair he never puts away regardless of the climate.

“Don’t worry, Spitfire,” he grins, approaching on the back of his horse. His posture is relaxed and he’s - somehow - got a stock of wheat sticking out of the corner of his mouth. “I’m right here.”

An Inquisition scout approaches, saluting Subira. “Your mount-“

 _“Hyundai,”_ she interrupts the scout who came to give her five seconds worth of information and definitely is not paid enough for this.

 _“-Hyundai,”_ the Scout repeats slowly, a little bewildered at her insistence. “is ready for you. Have you gathered your things to depart with?”

Subira nods, holding up a bag. “I’ll secure it when I mount. Would you mind giving me a hand?”

The scout, still flustered, nods. In a few minutes she’s mounted and her belongings are either in the saddle bags or attached to the saddle.

“Back to Skyhold,” she says with her head in Hyundai’s mane. _“Yay.”_

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Skyhold,” Varric says with amusement in his voice. “Think about how hard Ruffles has been working!”

“It isn’t that,” she huffs in agitation. “We’ve barely been out here-“

“Spitfire, it’s been nearly two months.”

She rolls her eyes. “Barely. There’s still so much to do. I can’t believe we have to stop. Who could even need us right now?”

Varric swallows, knowing exactly who plans to meet them there. Hopefully, they’ll be fast friends.

_Who is he kidding? They’re going to be thick as thieves._

“Who knows, kid?” He throws out casually, leaning back in his saddle.

Subira shrugs. “It’s probably some boring warrior dude who thinks I should’ve been married three years ago,” she sticks her tongue out and pretends to gag. _“Gross.”_

Varric wheezes in laughter at the idea and Subira giggles. “It’s true! I heard Josephine and Leliana talking about how the marriage proposals for my hand come in every day! _Me!”_

Dorian shakes his head, smirking. Some of his sweaty hair falls on to his forehead and he doesn’t bother to move it. “Reminds me more and more of home here every day.”

“Have you had many people propose to you, Dorian?” The young girl inquires eagerly.

Varric grins. “Yeah, Pavus, shouldn’t you be married off? Have a bunch of little Dorian’s running around?”

Dorian snorts. “If my family had their way? Yes.”

“Oh? Did they have someone picked out for you?” Varric asks, his eyebrow vaulted high onto his forehead.

His eyes light up mischievously. “Livia Heradanus. Smart girl, wicked tongue and an hourglass figure,” he nods seriously to Subira’s wide eyes and wickedly to Varric’s amused ones. “But as it turns out, I never was one for tradition. Left the girl...”

Varric glares at him and Cassandra narrows her eyes suspiciously, both shaking their heads to whatever story he planned on sharing.

He clears his throat. “... At her, _ahem,_ home. I left her at her home and told her I couldn’t marry her.”

 _“Marvelous save,”_ Solas remarks dryly under his breath. Cassandra snorts.

“Sounds like you would’ve made a happy couple, Sparkler,” Varric jokes.

Dorian laughs heartily. “Oh, no. I’m sure she’s relieved I’m gone, actually. Trading coy insults at every party would’ve been entertaining, but also would’ve gotten old.”

“Would it really have been that bad?” Subira asks curiously.

The man sighs. “I have no way of knowing now, but one can assume.”

With a sure nod, Subira grins. “Then I’m glad you ran away. Thank you for sharing, Dorian. You’re really inspirational sometimes, you know that?"

Solas makes noises of surprise and indignant protest, Varric shushing him through laughter.

Dorian raises an eyebrow, his eternally smug smile still in place. “How so? All I remember is a particularly annoyed bride-to-be and one very angry Magister.”

Her lips split in a wide smile. “Because it means if you can say no to what other people want for you, I can do it, too.”

 _“I - oh,”_ he blinks and grasps at words to say, seeming a bit like a fish with his mouth open and not at all graceful.

She hums, the newfound maturity that the rolling hills of sand seemed to grant her allowing her to ignore his bluster. “It’s a lot, I understand. But it’s nice to know.”

Dorian clears his throat. “What about yourself, Cassandra? Surely you have had your fair share of suitors, being Nevarran royalty? I heard the Mortalitasi prioritize bloodlines, like in the Magisterium.”

The woman makes a disgusted noise and rolls her eyes. “Indeed, they do. My Uncle tried to get me to see suitors... for a time. There were... decidedly fewer when I broke a man’s arm.”

Varric and Subira burst into hilarious laughter while Cassandra scoffs with a roll of her eyes. “It was an accident! _Mostly.”_

Dorian smirks mischievously. “I’ll admit, never tried that before. Perhaps-“

Cassandra half-glares, the heat of it diminishing over time. “That’s _enough_ from you, Tevinter.”

He sighs dramatically and veers on to another subject. “I think we’re more alike than you think, Cassandra. Though, I am trying to imagine you in a dress. It’s a difficult image to conjure up, admittedly.”

A shocked noise - _questionably considered human_ \- makes its way out of Cassandra’s mouth. “Us? Alike?” And immediately after, like slapping away an annoying bug, “Stop that.”

“You know, damn it all? Throw it all on the fire? You don’t seem so keen to return to Nevarra, if your description of your own limited view of it is anything to go by,” Dorian drawls, preening himself even as they ride.

She’s quiet for several moments. “Perhaps we _are_ more alike than I previously thought.”

Subira looks at Varric with an excited grin. “They’re getting along!” She whispers.

“Don’t jinx it, kid,” he whispers back with a smart grin.


	43. Pride in Oneself.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole tries to help but honestly, this is why she doesn't think around him. Magic lessons ft. proud-dad-Solas.

_Found in a pile of letters that didn’t make it to the intended destinations, an unopened letter from Ambassador Montilyet of the Inquisition addressed to the Inquisitor._

Dated 9:41 Dragon, the rest of the date has been smudged off. Originally sent from Skyhold Fortress and intended to make it to the Western Approach, Orlais. 

> Inquisitor,
> 
> I suppose while strange to write your new honorific, I have no doubt that you do it proud. I do hope the Approach is treating you well, I’ve heard it has quite the hot climate, though nothing like Antiva. Remember that water is most important when spending extended time in the sun, Inquisitor.
> 
> I find my office quiet and a bit lonesome since you’ve departed. It isn’t the same without you, Inquisitor. Skyhold awaits your return with baited breath.
> 
> Please remember to take care of yourself.
> 
> We’re all behind you, Tesoro.
> 
> Warmest regards,
> 
> Josephine.

_Below the signature is the Ambassador’s wax seal._

* * *

When the Approach finally begins fading to reveal green grass and clear streams and fresh air she secretly revels in it all. The chirping of birds instead of the eerie noises of spiders or scorpions scrabbling against the shifting sands was infinitely reassuring, too.

Each of her companions were a bit surprised to see her smiling more and more as the month trip revealed better weather and terrain, but none commented. Though, Dorian did complain about his hair going grey early when she insisted on riding Hyundai through open fields, but not much else after he saw how unabashedly happy it made her.

They’re halfway back to Skyhold when one night, Solas approached her from across the fire, hands behind his back and feet quiet against the grass.

“Come with me,” he says cryptically before stepping forward into the forest and she hastily goes to follow, nearly tripping over roots in her hurry. Hobo-friend offers a midnight trip through the woods? Yes!

They settle into a comfortable pace with Solas moving the brush aside gently and Subira getting caught on things every now and then, but following with the utmost attention. The only light is a magelight bobbing beside him to illuminate the way.

Her legs are burning by the time they arrive to their destination. There’s vines crawling over rocks on all sides and no way to enter except from the front. Two staves - one being Solas’ and one unfamiliar - lean up against the wall. The unfamiliar staff is made of a smooth but simple wood, and adorned with a decent grip as well as an arrow tipped top and round, blunt bottom.

He grabs his own staff before passing the other towards her. Magic flares to her fingertips and the smell of ozone wafts into the air immediately.

“Easy, _da'lan_ ,” he says with a small smile, but quickly grows serious. “There is unrest around us. I did not think...”

He considers his words carefully, his chin pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “I want to increase the speed of our lessons as a precaution.”

She nods seriously, tightening her grip on the staff. Her dreams have become more foreboding as of late, and while she cannot tell if it’s a rather persistent fear demon or the Fade trying to reflect the real world and tell her that something seriously bad is going to happen, she knows something is wrong.

“You must take this seriously,” he begins severely, grey eyes even. “We have only practiced simple techniques, and this only raises your stakes. Will you bear the responsibility if need be? Are you ready?”

She meets his eyes. “As I’ll ever be. I will bear the responsibility. Teach me what you know, Solas. I’m honored.”

He holds the staff in front of him with both hands, breathing deeply through his nose and out through his mouth.

“First,” he begins softly, his voice almost a whisper, “we will focus on your mindfulness and meditation. Loss of focus can kill any mage. Thus, I want to strengthen your ability to do spells that require this skill.”

The small amount of hesitance she feels vanishes at Solas’ confidence. He believes she can do this. It isn’t even a doubt, she thinks, or he wouldn’t have her here.

_She feels ready to do this._

“Okay,” she murmurs, settling into a similar stance as him. She evens her breathing. Her mana settles, even as it reaches out to Solas’, jolting before becoming restful again, both mage’s mana claiming their own space.

Solas quickly realizes that she already knows how to cast a weak barrier, as the technique of setting wards is very similar. He decides to focus on barriers for the time being.

“You must be able to hold it and do other things,” Solas starts, casting an example barrier over her. As usual, it’s like a wave of cool water. “But not tonight. I want you to focus - picture the barrier in your mind, what you want it to look like, how strong you wish it to be. Emotions are very important, as well as intent. Who are you protecting? What is your goal? Eventually, it becomes second nature.”

And that’s how they spent three hours practicing barriers. Some would have spots that were more whole than others, some wouldn’t stay fully formed and some were too thin. Eventually, she managed multiple strong barriers with little to no thought to it.

Solas wore a small but proud smile, basically his version of beaming. He claps a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Wonderful, da’lan. You’ve worked hard. Go, rest now, before the Seeker awakens without you.”

And so she does, creeping back through the woods to her tent and crawling into her bedroll. While she’s getting settled, Cassandra rolls over in her sleep and lifts up her head slightly.

 _“Anita?”_ Her hand is halfway to where her scabbard would be. “There better not be a dragon out there. I told Bull you weren’t fighting... anymore... without me...”

The woman trails off still reaching for her not-there sword and leaning towards Anita before she shifts fully, laying on her stomach. Her breathing evens and whistles through the small amount of hair, normally in her braid, in front of her nose.

Inexplicably, Subira feels very warm. She smiles softly and feels her eyes begin to close, knowing that when she the warmth of Cassandra’s arm reaches out and curls over her protectively as she drifts off that it’s real.

* * *

The recurring motifs in their dreams are disturbing. Solas drinks more bitter tea early in the cold mornings before the rest have risen. Barely noticeable black circles lay under his eyes and he gains an odd paleness to his skin.

Subira becomes loose with her magic. The mana normally so tightly coiled around her begins to unwind and seek, spread and grow. She grows flowers under the moon while her companions sleep, heals her wounds or practices the forms Solas teaches her.

One boring morning of traveling, Varric says, “Hey, Chuckles, can I ask you a question?”

Solas smiles the weird combination of cryptic and smug that he always does when someone asks him for his opinion and replies, “I will answer to the best of my ability. Yes?”

Varric looks at their fearless Inquisitor riding ahead of them, nodding to her with his chin. “Why does she visit the Fade at night? I thought only mages did that.”

From their view behind them, there is no way to see what triggers it, but Hyundai startles and Anita nearly goes straight over his head and onto the ground. Cassandra immediately reaches out to grab his reins and steady him while the girl catches her stolen breath, chest heaving.

Solas eyes the Inquisitor briefly before replying. “The magic on her hand is unlike anything this world has seen for hundreds - perhaps _thousands_ of years. I have seen similar things in the Fade, echoes of ancient magic-“

Varric cuts through his explanation impatiently. _“Solas._ Not that I don’t normally enjoy your long-winded academic talk, but can you get to the _point?”_

The only hint of a reaction is the twitch of Solas’ eyebrows, but he acquiesces, if only to finish the conversation. “Because of her connection to the Fade - by virtue of the Mark - the Inquisitor can be drawn into the Fade. It is the _most likely_ explanation.”

The dwarf still looks uneasy. “Is there nothing you can do?”

“To sever her connection to the Fade would render the Mark useless. It could quite possibly also kill her,” he replies clinically, but with a clarity that startles Varric and Cassandra. The severity seems to jolt them into alarm.

Solas continues, “The only thing I can stop is the pain, which seems to only come in temporary spurts, _according_ to the Inquisitor. Unfortunately, her vivid dreams are something she must weather.”

Anita does not comment. Cassandra notes that her hands clutch her reins so tightly that they shake in her fists.

 _“Fiery, cold depths, aching for lost pieces never recovered,”_ Cole murmurs, but somehow it pierces them each as if he had shouted it. _“Blackness, empty space and lost memories, consuming guilt-“_

Anita violently turns around, halting her horse. Hyundai’s head jerks up and Cassandra halts her own horse while Solas and Varric rush to steady their mounts.

 _“Cole,”_ she says and the words are so brittle, so fragile, it sounds like they’re made of shards of glass so sharp you could cut yourself on them.

He lowers his head. _“My burden to bear. Longing loneliness in the dark - Inquisitor, Herald, there are no names left.”_

Anita breathes deeply, a rough and ragged thing, before turning and kicking Hyundai back into a walk. No one is quite sure of what to say in the silence left behind, terrified of every implication that comes with Cole’s words - and with potentially upsetting the Inquisitor.

Solas and Cole share looks that Varric can’t decipher. Cassandra is tense, every muscle tight as a bow string and ready to fire - though the destination is unknown. Perhaps the boy-spirit, for speaking the words of her charges mind, or her charge, who has not shared her burdens with those around her?

The Inquisitor looks visibly shaken by the whole affair. When Dorian tries to talk to her, she replies, _“Kaffas!_ Go away, Dorian!” And he gasped as if drastically wounded before retreating.

Instead he spoke with Varric, Cassandra and occasionally Solas. The elf spent most of the time talking to Cole in hushed tones, often speaking elvhen.

Subira has never wanted to run more. She knows their eyes are on her and they’re thinking about her and that she’s panicking; she knows she’s panicking but she’s glued to her saddle and she can’t move. Blood rushes in her ears and her lips feel numb, the air moving around her as she rides almost nonexistent.

She thinks that maybe behind her, Dorian and Varric speak seriously, but it’s hard to tell. Cassandra seems off but she can’t tell what’s wrong and it’s making Subira nervous. She knows she shouldn’t be afraid of Cassandra but she’s already so afraid to trust and with the fear demon hounding her in the Fade during their trip in the Approach, it’s difficult.

Her panic does nothing for this except make it worse. She wishes she wasn’t so _stupid_ and willing to die for a cause she doesn’t even believe in. She wishes she hadn’t been at the Conclave. She wishes _so many things_ and she’s stuck _here_ and she just itches to _run._

But she rides on silently. Cole breathes the familiar Orlesian lullaby under his breath that he has spoken to help her sleep when the nightmares and pain from the Anchor dog her every step. She can’t find it in her to tell him to stop.

That night, Subira breathes in and out at the edge of the camp. Half of her heart says _stay_ and the other half, the one on her brains side, says _run._ Instead of thinking about it, she murmurs a quiet enchantment and flowers sprout beneath her fingertips.

“These remind you of her,” the spirits voice whispers, delicately brushing his fingertips over the petals.

“Yes,” she answers quietly, eyes shut tight.

“You miss her,” he says next, innocence shining through in his curiosity.

After a few quiet moments she dips her head. _“Yes.”_

“Why can't you have both?” He asks innocently. She laughs, a cynical and harsh thing.

“It’s too hard to explain, Cole,” she replies tiredly. “But I just _can’t.”_

He shakes his head. “I am sorry. I know I am not her. I know none of them are the ones you want. _I am sorry you feel so alone.”_

Her hands clench in the flowers she made and she doesn’t notice she’s crying until the teardrops fall into them from her chin and cheeks. And then in a fit of anger she snarls, fisting the plants under her hands and the flowers begin to burn until they’re crackling and smoking in a flash inferno. She doesn’t stop until they’re all ash. She leaves without another word, messily wiping her face as she goes.

 _“Letting go a piece of herself each time,”_ he murmurs to the ashes.

“What?” Solas inquiries, approaching from where he’s finished gathering multiple ingredients from the woods.

 _“A new self to build,”_ Cole replies to Solas sadly, looking up with hopeless eyes. “Why can she not keep herself?”

“I do not know, Cole,” the man suspects he knows who he speaks of. His ears go back a little bit and he wrinkles his nose. “It is a complicated matter.”

“She said it was too,” Cole says, still looking rather forlorn.

“She would be correct,” Solas agrees easily, coming to sit next to Cole on the ground. “There are not many ways it can go well.”

“But the rabbit and the fox are going to be together again, right?” Cole asks desperately, his eyes shining.

“The rabbit and fox?” Solas makes a curious noise.

“In the Fade,” the boy replies in a whisper. “The rabbit and the fox. Best friends who lost each other...” Cole curls his fingers. “A story. It tells a story to distract from her pain...”

Bewildered, Solas shakes his head. “Cole, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cole is frantic now, nervous chatter erupting from him at a mile a minute. “I go to her, I try to help her, she - the rabbit - the fox-“

“Cole!” Solas interrupts, grabbing the spirit by his upper arms. “What has gotten into you?”

“The rabbit and the fox,” he replies with a pleading edge. “It’s her story. Their story? And - and she plays it every time I try to help her at night.”

Solas places a hand on Cole’s head gently, regretful for what he was about to do but finding it necessary. With a gentle motion, he briefly looks into the Fade and taps gently on what seems to be-

_All at once, memories of a fox and a rabbit running through streets and curling up in hollowed out logs flooded his mind, the image of a restlessly sleeping Inquisitor flashing behind them._

He stumbles back from Cole, asking breathlessly, “The Inquisitor’s story?”

The spirit nods enthusiastically. “Her pain is great. I want to help her and take it away. But she plays-“

Solas finishes his sentence, understanding dawning. _“-the rabbit and the fox.”_

Cole nods, smiling slightly now.

“She’s... far more powerful than I thought, to be able to create... I suppose...” Solas’ normally articulate thoughts are scrambled by the rush of thoughts he saw from Cole’s mind and he feels a headache blooming behind his eye.

“Would you like me to brew one of those teas you dislike?” Cole asks softly.

Solas nods, wincing at the blunt pain in his head. “I believe that may help, yes. Thank you, Cole.”

But for the rest of the night, he’s fairly troubled. He cannot puzzle out what she could need to keep to herself that she blocks even Cole from helping her. He shakes his head, blowing on his tea. _Youthful ignorance,_ he thinks sadly. _Isolation to appear less weak._ Should he reach out to her?

He has a rush of memories: Clasping a firm hand over her shoulder after a powerful lightning strike just a few nights ago, the proud gleam in her eye. Anita nearly beating him in a sparring match and the pride he wore like glove, making her smile. He thinks of the flowers and vines she has been able to grow and the progress she’s made with her barriers.

 _No,_ he decides resolutely. _He has reached out to her. It is her responsibility to reach out to him._

And with that decision, he takes a sip of his tea, wrinkles his nose and purses his lips, and takes another.


	44. New Friends in High Town Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Hawke! Subira is in awe, pulls away from her companions more as Adamant (unknowingly) grows closer, and everyone worries. Also, soft hairwashing feels with Josie and Su.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Mabon everyone! I hope the autumn equinox is wonderful for you all <3

_Finally,_ they make it back to Skyhold, tired and weary. Their horses are immediately switched out at the bottom of the mountain to be rubbed down with a liniment and then put out in the large pasture they built at the base of the mountain. Large, comfy horses used for farm work carry them up the mountain in striding steps. Inquisition agents walk on either side.

Subira is overwhelmed by the crowd that formed to see her return. She grabs her bag and dismounts swiftly, forgetting about her knee and stumbling on uneven ground, but finds her arm caught by...

_Bull!_

“Bull!” She jumps up into his arms for a hug.

Surprised, he hugs her back, but she scrambles up and on to his shoulders.

Holding onto his horns, she leans down and whispers, _“get me_ out _of here.”_

He might’ve winked, but no one will ever know. “You got it, Little Boss.”

“Alright, coming through! Let’s go, move it! Nothing to see here.”

Subira laughs quietly the entire time, eyes closed and her head pressed against Bull’s. She barely lolls off as they walk, lulled by the swaying motion.

“Inquisitor?” Leliana’s voice snapped her back to reality, and she sits up quickly.

“Yes, Spymaster?” Subira scrambles off of Bull’s shoulders after a moment and stumbles, dusting herself off and trying to look decent.

Unfortunately, after a month and a half in a desert, it’s a bit difficult.

“You’re needed in the War Room, My Lady,” Leliana replies with a cursory look over her person.

The Spymaster looks a bit apologetic and concerned, but ultimately focused on work. The intense gaze exhausts Subira and barely any words have been spoken.

“Yes, right,” Subira nods, wiping at her tired eyes. She vaguely notices the gentle, supporting squeeze Bull gives her shoulder. When did his hand even get there? “Let me go place my bag in my room and I’ll be right down.”

“Would you not like a bath, Inquisitor? Perhaps a meal?” Josephine asks as she approaches, mentally cataloguing the rips and tears in the girls' clothing.

“A bath sounds nice,” the Inquisitor admits with a yawn, covered politely under her hand. “I haven’t been very hungry, though. Maybe all the time in the sun made me sick.”

Leliana sighs. _“Josie,_ don’t you think-“

“No, Leliana,” Josephine snaps, folding her arms. “I _don’t_ think. I think she just got back and needs a warm bath and a hot meal, and then we can bring her in to talk. It waited for this long. It can wait a bit more.”

The Seneschal stares at her friend before huffing and walking away at a brisk pace. Any agent walking towards her made sure to keep a wide berth, looking back at their stormy Spymaster before continuing on.

“I’m just going to...” Subira stumbles, placing an arm against the wall and blinking rapidly. “I’m just going to...”

“Anita?” Josephine’s voice is closer to her ear now. “Anita, are you alright? Do you need help getting to your room?”

She grits her teeth and pushes off the wall. “I’m fine, Ambassador,” she ignores the slight hurt she sees on Josephine’s face at the title. “Just a bit tired. I’ll be fine after a bath.”

 _“... alright,”_ the woman says hesitantly, sharing a look with Bull behind her.

Subira tiredly makes her way through the main hall, not bothering to inspect any of the new changes that went on while she was gone. _Far too tired. Will look later. Oh, the stone work is wonderful..._

Sera perches on a banister as she passes, but Subira doesn’t even notice her. The elf frowns.

 _“Hey!”_ Sera calls, indignant. “What’s all that about, huh?”

“Hm?” Subira lifts her head, turning. “Oh, Sera. I didn’t see you. Come in, I’m just about to have a bath. You can stay until then, I guess.”

Sera hops off the banister and follows the tired girl up the stairs and ends up sitting on her bed as she settles in, brushing her hair with long, practiced strokes. Subira lays out a comfortable outfit to put on after her bath and sighs at the paperwork on her desk, eyes closing momentarily as if to shut it out.

“Don’t worry about all that, huh?” Sera jumps up off the bed, steering Subira towards the metal bath being filled with warm water. “Here, kid, wash up. You look rough.”

“Aw, thanks Sera,” Subira mumbles sarcastically.

“I’m just being honest!” The elf laughs, patting a serving girl with a red handkerchief on the shoulder. “You’re more sand than girl!”

“That’s true,” she agrees, wincing at the gritty feeling of sand everywhere.

“You wash up, I’ll redirect all the pompy-folk that want your attention. I’ve got your back,” Sera ruffles her hair before taking off down the stairs, closing the door behind her and the various attendees who had been in the room.

Subira sighs and puts her clothes aside to mend later before sinking into the bath. It’s warm, but not the temperature she’d like.

_I can fix that._

She breathes deeply and evenly, remembering Solas’ lessons about focus. And then she envisions warmth and steam  and suddenly its curling up lazily from the water, pleasantly warmed enough to wrinkle her skin.

She lets out a noise of content and sinks deeper into it, closing her eyes. _I’ll wash up... in a second,_ she thinks.

What must be moments later, she blinks her eyes open to Josephine tapping her shoulder. “Anita, my dear, you fell asleep in the bath. Did you even wash up?”

Subira feels a hot blush spread across her cheeks and she brings her knees to her chest in the now truly lukewarm water. “I was... getting to it...”

Josephine shakes her head and hands her a washcloth. “Here. Let me wash your hair while you get the rest?”

Hesitantly, she accepts the cloth and turns back to the bath. Subira dunks her head under the water and wipes her eyes before reaching for the soap, helpfully placed into her hand by Josephine. She murmurs her thanks and begins to lather the soap onto the cloth and her skin. Moments after, she feels hands gently working soap into her hair and massaging her scalp.

 _Is this what that feels like? I’ve never had someone wash my hair. This is..._ nice.

Josephine lets out a small laugh. “I’m glad you like it, Tesoro.”

The blush returns full force. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” she mumbles.

“It’s okay. I did this for my younger siblings quite often,” Josephine says brightly, still working soap into all of her thick curls. “Tell me about your expedition, Anita.”

Subira groans. “So much sand. And blood. And Venatori. Oh, and weird desert animals. Blood-thirsty, deranged desert animals. Another dragon?”

The Ambassador lets out a small laugh and grabs a small cup from somewhere unseen, dipping it into the tub. “Tip your head back,” she instructs. “A dragon, you said? Cassandra cannot have liked that.”

Subira complies. Warm water gently rinses through her hair and down her scalp multiple times until the suds are gone.

“She didn’t,” the girl snorts. “Dorian suggested we turn back and let the researcher handle it, but that... didn’t really take off. And then we fought a dragon,” she rubs a long cut from her ankle to her mid-calf, still raw and the skin healing.

“All done!” Josephine announces brightly. “I’ll leave you to get dressed, Anita. Take your time.”

And then she’s alone again, breathing a sigh of relief. She stares hatefully at her hand.

“Can you _not_ cause so many issues for me?” Subira asks it rhetorically. “I hate being so tired all the time. And the pain is annoying.”

_Her hand does not reply._

“Of course,” she mutters, not having expected a reply anyway.

Within fifteen minutes she’s out of the bath and dressed in a white long sleeved tunic with a crisp collar and comfortable pants, hair loosely tied in a tail with a pretty purple ribbon. She finds herself hesitating at the door. And then she’s walking down the stairs resolutely, multiple stones weighing her down when all she wants to do is sleep.

Varric, with a wide grin, greets her at the bottom. “Spitfire! Come with me, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

She looks between him and the war room. “Is there some way this can wait? I have to-“

The dwarf shakes his head, gesticulating with his hands for emphasis. “No, no. This has to happen now. Trust me.”

With a pensive frown, she nods.

“Great! Let’s go.” Varric smiles and extends an arm.

Leliana smirks from behind them, nudging Josephine with her elbow. “Cassandra is going to _kill_ him if he brought who my agents believe he did into Skyhold. I think the Chargers helped him.”

Josephine gasps, hands coming up over her mouth. “He _didn’t.”_

The Spymaster laughs in delight. “Oh, Josie, I believe he _did.”_

Varric and Subira make their way up the many stairs, wind rustling her still wet hair. “What could possibly be up here-“

The Champion Of Kirkwall is exactly as she pictured her. Tall, broad shouldered and extremely Ferelden, if the Mabari at her feet is anything to go by - or if you’ve read any anecdote about her.

She’s strong, no doubt, and Subira stares at her muscles for a long time before actually approaching.

Without turning, Hawke asks, “Are you going to introduce yourself?”

Subira feels heat rush to her ears and cheeks, stepping forward with her eyes set to the ground. “Hello, Messere Hawke. It’s an honor to meet you,” and she holds her hand out to shake.

Varric looks unimpressed, a grin on his face. “Spitfire, where’s all your energy? You can’t tell me you’re intimidated by _little ol’ Hawke here?”_

“I - I’m not!” She defends, a barely noticeable blush on her dark cheeks. The Mabari woofs in what she thinks is a protest.

The Champion smirks. “Don’t worry kid, I’m too old for you anyway. But I always appreciate an admirer,” she winks, and then leans down to pat her dog. “And, Baby, give the kid a break, will you?”

Baby woofs again, now approaching Subira and demanding her attention. For a few minutes, she pets and coos to the Mabari before standing from her kneeling position against the stones.

Subira clears her throat. “Varric said you have information on Corypheus.”

Hawke turns, expression darkening. “I do. The bastard should be dead.”

“He’s doing a piss-poor job of it, if that’s the case,” Subira replies without missing a beat, and then blushes. Hawke laughs loudly.

 _“Oh,_ I like you,” she declares, throwing an arm over Subira’s shoulders. “Come on, lets introduce myself to your little team. We have much to talk about, yes?”

Subira shoots Varric disbelieving looks as they travel down the stairs with Baby in tow. He seems happy to be around Hawke again, his gait relaxed and easy. _Hm. So that’s what he was missing._

_Like me with Castelleta._

Ignoring the pang of longing in her heart, she instead looks up at the tall warrior walking beside her. Hawke looks down at her with warm eyes.

“No questions?” Hawke asks teasingly. “Normally people have more for the famed Champion of Kirkwall.”

Subira shrugs. “I understand there’s a person under the title. I’d rather just get to know you.”

Hawke blinks. “Makers tits, Varric. You weren’t kidding, huh?”

Varric chuckles. “Not at all, my friend.”

With no context, the teenager shrugs and continues on. Chatter halts as the very obvious - _she’s kinda tall,_ Subira thinks, _but it does fit her_ \- Champion and Inquisitor make their way through the Keep. _Maker only knows what’s going to happen when word gets to Cassandra about this.  
_

She shakes her head. She can’t think about that.

Approaching the War Room door, she opens it for Hawke politely, who smiles and takes it for her and allows her and Varric to enter first before turning to her dog and commanding, _“watch,”_ before following and shutting it behind them.

Outside the door, Baby circles and plops down with a huff, watching vigilantly for her best friend.

The low conversation in the room stops as soon as their guest speaks, but the reality sets in when she turns and approaches the table. Leliana looks eternally smug, Josephine looks awed, and Cullen looks like he’s seen a ghost.

Hawke smirks, leaning back on her heels. “Hey, Knight-Captain. Long time no see, huh?”

Cullen snaps to attention. “If it’s no trouble to you, it’s _Commander_ now, Hawke."

“Right,” the woman nods sourly. “Was it Commander when you followed Meredith’s orders, or-“

“No!” Subira snaps, commanding the attention immediately. She stands at her place at the table, eyes hard. “We aren’t doing this. There are very serious things to discuss. Hawke, we’re very happy to have you here and we’ll house you as any guest of notable station, but I _cannot_ have you picking fights with our Commander. Petty squabbles will have to _wait_ in the face of Thedas’ imminent danger, okay?”

At the end, she tacks on, _“Please.”_

Blinking several times, the tall woman nods and straightened her shoulders. “Right, yes. My apologies, Inquisitor. And to you, Kni - Commander.”

Cullen inclines his head to the tall woman slightly and Subira breathes a sigh of relief, leaning on her hands against the table. “Now, let's get down to business. Hawke, you and Varric said you have information on Corypheus?”

Hawke crosses her arms, shifting her weight on the balls of her feet. “He was originally in some holding cell, deep in the Vinmarks. It was a Grey Warden outpost, and they’d been holding him since... well, I’m not quite sure when, but when we released him... Thedas _definitely_ wasn’t as it should’ve been, to him.”

Leliana raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “How so?”

The woman sighs, recalling the details. “He’s a Tevinter Magister, obviously - but I’m sure you already knew that, since the bloody bastard doesn’t _shut up_ about the glory of the Imperium. What you probably _don’t know_ is _when_ he’s from. When he was released, he thought we were acolytes of Dumat,” she scoffs. “He expected there to be slaves and priests and for the Imperium to be bigger... _Clearly,_ things had changed.”

“Clearly,” Cullen murmurs, holding his chin. “Why was he released in the first place?”

Varric sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Corypheus, _somehow,_ had woken slowly through time. The seals had worn down and he was using the taint in the blood of the Warden’s at the outpost to control them. He sent Carta dwarves after Hawke, initially. That’s how we ended up in the Vinmarks.”

“This is all nice and good, I love Corypheus lore as much as the next person,” Subira sighs impatiently, leaning on the table and strategically hiding how much weight she’s keeping off of her weaker leg. “But how and why does this relate to him being released?”

Hawke only smiles at her childish impatience. “I’m getting there. My father, Malcom Hawke, had been... _persuaded_ to aide the Wardens. With his blood, the seal was renewed. And another Hawke’s blood was needed to fix it.”

Leliana turns narrowed eyes onto Hawke. “Your blood.”

Varric picks up where she left off, shaking his head. “But it was a rouse. When we got there, it was a ghost town. A trap set up to get Hawke’s blood to release the damn thing. We met one Warden who had nearly succumbed to the taint, but wasn’t under Corypheus’ thrall. He helped us through the outpost. When we killed Corypheus, he was dead. As in, dead dead. Not getting up again dead. A corpse dead.”

“If he was so dead, why is he threatening the world now?” Leliana wonders aloud.

Hawke sighs heavily. “I don’t know. The Wardens seemed fine after... but he obviously tricked us. He transferred his life to the next Warden through the taint in their blood.”

Subira feels the blood leave her face. “So that means...”

Hawke nods grimly. “Any tainted thing? Corypheus can move into. I’ve been researching Darkspawn for the better part of a year. Suddenly, the Warden’s disappeared.”

Josephine nods. “Any Warden contact we had in Orlais vanished before we could reach out.”

“I can’t figure out where they went or why,” Hawke shakes her head. “I have one contact - an Orlesian Warden, currently in Crestwood.”

Leliana nods, moving around the table and pointing to a few markers. “My agents have reported sudden troop movement in Crestwood, which they suspect to be Wardens. Could it be this Warden?”

Hawke shakes her head, frowning. “It wouldn’t be him. He’s hiding, at the moment. If Wardens are in Crestwood, they’re looking for _him.”_

“That’s settled, then,” Subira nods, moving her own marker to Crestwood. “That’s where we will go. There’s help requests there anyway, so after we find this Warden we can deal with everything going on there...”

Hawke’s face pinches up a bit, her nose scrunching. “Wait, you’re - you’re coming?”

The Inquisitor stares the Champion dead in the face. “Is there a problem, Champion?”

Hawke looks down, chastised. “None, Inquisitor. My apologies.”

Subira nods. “Good. We must plan, and quickly.”

Josephine is quick to protest. “Anita - _Inquisitor,_ you just returned from the Western Approach, with the reports of how thin the Veil in Crestwood is and how the mark-“

“Ambassador,” Subira interrupts. “I apologize, but that is not your concern. Nor is it mine, at the moment. We must focus on finding this Warden and helping the people of Crestwood, if the reports are to be believed.”

With a strange look on her face, Josephine nods, returning her attention to her clipboard. “Of course, Inquisitor. My apologies.” She replies quietly.

Cullen leans over the table now, his mantle swinging slightly over his shoulder. “We can prepare to have you move within the fortnight-“

“No,” Subira says firmly. “I want to leave within the week. Two or three days at least. Something bad is coming.”

Leliana frowns, imperceptibly moving closer. “How do you mean?”

The Inquisitor’s face becomes withdrawn, and she looks towards the window. The light shining through highlights the restless nights she suffered in the Approach.

“There is something bad coming,” she repeats softly. “Solas can feel it too. Ask any-“

Subira clears her throat. “At any rate, we need to get moving. Soon. Corypheus won’t wait for us to get our shit together.”

Josephine sighs, tapping her quill on her clipboard. “Inquisitor, must you use such language?”

 _“Brasca!_ Josephine, you are not my mother!” Subira growls, hands clenched by her side. The quill practically jumps out of the Ambassador’s hands in surprise.

Immediately, she turns her head away and breathes deeply. “My apologies, everyone. The trip seems to have worn on me. Champion, Varric,” she nods to the two on her way out, quickly exiting the room. She can feel Josephine’s worried eyes on her back.

It’s Sera who finds her up on a secluded piece of roof, throwing rocks into the training area and trying to hit the dummy when Cassandra turns her back.

“Hey, squirt,” Sera greets, plopping down next to her. Subira doesn’t reply, throwing another rock.

“Heard you got riled up at Fancypants earlier,” she mentions casually. Subira turns immediately.

“Can we _not_ talk about this?”

The elf sighs. “Kid, if you push everyone away, you’re just gonna hurt more.”

Subira frowns and pulls her knees closer to her chest and lays her head on her arms. “I’ve done just fine on my own,” she says, muffled by the fabric of her shirt. “I don’t need anyone else.”

“Said no one ever,” Sera scoffs. “Why don’t you let us be there for you?”

The girls heart pounds and her throat constricts with the desire to spill everything, _who_ she is, _why_ she was probably at the Conclave and _what_ part she played in the Rebellion. _Instead,_ she stays silent, stormy eyes looking out across the horizon.

Sera shakes her head and stands. “Okay, kid. We’re here if you need us. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

The elf jumps off the roof and rolls on her shoulder into the training grounds, startling Cassandra briefly. The elf’s cackling laughter is heard before she heads into the tavern. Subira can see the warrior shake her head before continuing her very angry looking training exercises.

It’s late, but she knows that Fiona will be in the library. The woman is pouring over some plans for the mages tower - Subira herself suggested it before she left - and she browses books idly.

“Grand Enchanter,” she greets, her eyes on a book title that she isn’t reading. “How are things? Settling in okay?”

The woman smiles brightly. “Thanks to you, we are. It’s been difficult, a few minor issues with former Templar’s in the Forces, but nothing that wasn’t handled.”

Subira breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m glad. If there’s ever an issue not resolved, come to me personally. You know I’ll...”

Her eyes drift up and across the rotunda where a raven peers at her with intelligent eyes and a cocked head. And next to it, it’s handler, with an equally intelligent gaze. Leliana looks up briefly before continuing a conversation of her own.

She turns back, taking a deep breath and eyeing the nondescript agent lingering in the area. “You know how I feel about mage rights, Grand Enchanter. Feel free to bring any concerns to me.”

Fiona frowns in slight concern, reaching out with a hand before hesitating and letting it fall back to the table. Her eyes follow Subira’s green ones, slowly trailing from Leliana to the agent lingering nearby.

“Of course... Inquisitor,” Fiona forces out. “You have been very generous. Thank you.”

She ducks her head. “Always, Grand Enchanter,” she murmurs. “One day, we need to talk about Redcliffe - we haven’t had a chance. Perhaps when I return from Crestwood?”

Fiona smiles. “Yes, that sounds fine. You’ll have to tell me how you ended up leading here, Inquisitor,” she says with an amused look at the girl, who blushes. And then she glances at the papers on the table, “Would you look over these plans for the mage tower with me?”

“I’d be delighted,” Subira grins in a familiar way.

Fiona smiles fondly, nearly reaching out to ruffle her hair sweetly before clearing her expression and throat, gesturing to the plans with a hand.

“Shall we?”

They spend hours crossing out plans and debating _this_ or _that_ and _how much space there is,_ but both are happy to be in the others presence again. No one bothers the pair, noting the serious air surrounding the two in their effort to not say anything damning and mistaking it for a serious Inquisition matter that can’t be interrupted. _Oh, well._

When the final rough draft done, it’s far later than Subira anticipated and multiple candle stubs surround the pair. She sighs with exhaustion, leaning back in her chair.

“Inquisitor?” Fiona’s voice snaps her out of her drowsy state. “You should probably go up to bed now, don’t you think?”

The familiar motherly tone that Fiona had taken to using with her over a year ago fills her chest with joy.

“And you as well, Grand Enchanter,” she replies gruffly in an attempt to distract from how just the smallest amount of concern affected her.

The older woman simply smiles in the knowing way she always does when Subira tried to evade her motherliness. “Go.”

“Yes, _m-“_

Subira turns away, her face falling. She can not afford this, cannot afford to roll her eyes and joke about Fiona’s motherly way. There’s too much at stake right now.

“Good night, Grand Enchanter,” she says quietly. Fiona nods behind her, a pensive, almost melancholy expression on her face.

But for the life of them, none of the former rebel mages can decipher the look that the Grand Enchanter wears late into the night, sipping a cup of bitter tea in the dimly lit library.

As she travels through the main hall, she stops directly outside the hall leading to Josephine’s office. The light flickering into the hallway let’s her know that the Ambassador is still up.

Hesitantly, she puts one step forward, but it never touches the ground. She turns around and continues to her tall, tall, tall tower room and lays in bed, wide awake.

* * *

Varric and Hawke sit at an angle side-by-side in his favorite spot in Skyhold with drinks. By now, the hall is abandoned and dark, the only light being the small fire in the fireplace and a few candles on the table. The only footsteps are the never-ending cycle of Guards and Leliana’s Agents, both circling the keep and constantly returning from and embarking on assignments.

She’s not the Hawke he remembers - not that he doesn’t love her the way she is, she’s his best friend - but she’s tired. Bone-deep tired. There are deep circles under her normally bright amber eyes and her hair, usually worn long, has been sheared up to her ears in a choppy, boyish cut. She’s lost a considerable amount of weight.

“You fell out of contact, Hawke,” Varric notes, taking a swig of his drink.

She nods absently, taking her own small sip. “There was... a lot going on.”

“So, where’s our favorite Captain?” Varric asks, instead of grilling her about her whereabouts and why she hasn’t been taking care of herself.

Hawke’s face goes red, ducking to hide the ruddy color. “Um...”

Varric swears, putting his cup down harshly. _“Dammit,_ Hawke!”

Hawke lifts her hands up in defense. “She would’ve wanted to come with me, Varric! I couldn’t let her. This is my fight.”

The dwarf shakes his head. “You are the biggest, most _noble_ idiot I’ve ever met, Hawke. She’s going to kill you. And then me. And then you again.”

 _“I know,”_ Hawke says quietly. “I know.”

“Well, aside from the fact that you left Isabela _somewhere_ in Thedas-“

“We were in _Jader,”_ Hawke interjects with a huff.

 _“Right,”_ Varric rolls his eyes. _“How_ was she? When did you see her last?”

Hawke closes her eyes and tries to remember. “I... she was good. Things were good. It’s _Admiral_ Isabela, if you see her. Won’t take anything else,” the woman smiles fondly. “It’s been... Maker. It’s been awhile.”

Hawke buries her head in her hands, arms braced on her knees.

Varric frowns. “It’ll work out, Hawke. The Inquisition is doing good work, the Inquisitor is a good kid-“

 _“About that,”_ Hawke sits up abruptly. “Why is a teenager leading the Inquisition?”

He chortles. “I don’t quite know myself, Hawke. All I know is that the Conclave went to hell and when it was over... she was _there._ Looked half dead, that glowing green infestation in her hand, and a spitfire attitude.”

The woman smiles. “Definitely a little Spitfire. I don’t doubt she’s doing good things for Thedas.”

The troubled look doesn’t leave his friends face. “What is it, Hawke?”

Hawke blows air roughly out of her nose. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I came to finish this, finish Corypheus, but it doesn’t quite feel like my fight anymore. I think I’ve been lost for awhile, Varric.”

His heart hurts for his friend. He reaches a hand between them and places it on hers, squeezing gently. “Hey, it’s alright. We’ve all been there. You’ve got a place in the Inquisition for now, until Isabela comes and drags you back by your coattails.”

His friend gives him a little smile. “Yeah.”

“Does she know anything?” Varric inquires curiously.

Nervously, Hawke rubs the back of her neck. “I left her... a note...”

Varric guffaws. “A _note?!”_

Hawke shrinks into her chair. “Told her this was my fight and that I couldn’t let her get hurt. And then I left.”

He shakes his head. “Hawke, I love you like you’re my own flesh and blood, but you are such an idiot sometimes.”

She nods. “I know. _Trust me,_ I know.”

He decides they need a subject change. “So, what do you think about Curly’s hair?”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Curly? _Oh!_ Cullen? I guess someone took scissors to that horrible rag on his head, finally. I suppose he could be called dashing, if I were into men.”

Varric laughs. “He’s drawn lots of attention as Commander, actually.”

Now her eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really?” Varric nods, and she smiles a bit. “Well, good for him, then. I’m still pissed about Meredith - and his comment about my sister - but I can live and let live. For now.”

 _“Now, now,_ Hawke,” Varric wags a finger at her disapprovingly. “No planning the death of Inquisition Officials.”

Hawke laughs a bit. “I’m not! _Scouts Honor!”_

“You’re not a scout of anything, you lying ass,” Varric shoves her shoulder playfully.

She laughs again, shoving back and then leaning down sideways, resting her head against his.

“It’s good to see you, Varric,” she comments quietly, eyes closed. “I’ve missed seeing my friends. I haven’t seen Fenris or Aveline or Merrill in... _Maker._ It’s been so long. I miss Kirkwall.”

Varric leans into his best friend. “I know how you feel.”

Across the hall, the Inquisitor exits the door from the Garden. She lifts a hand to her mouth and yawns, passing by the Ambassador’s office and pausing.

They watch her make the decision to turn and continue on, not bothering to try harder to conceal the slight hitch in her step. When she arrives at the door to her room, she looks up at it with a hand on the handle and stands there for a few moments before entering as quietly as a mouse.

“You and her have a lot in common,” Varric says absentmindedly.

With a heavy heart, Hawke nods. “I know,” she whispers. “I wish we didn’t. That kid isn’t gonna survive this Inquisition.”

Varric tenses. “I won’t let that happen. None of us will.”

Hawke shakes her head, shaggy-cut hair rustling against Varric’s. “You don’t _choose_ to let it happen, Varric,” her voice cracks and she purses her lips as she considers her next words. “When you give so much of yourself... a piece dies with how much you give. If she isn’t dead by the end of this, she won’t be the same.”

“None of us will,” Varric replies, but it doesn’t have the meaning it normally would. He’s thinking about the words his friend said and what it means for her.

_For the Inquisitor._

Hawke slaps her hands on her knees and stands. “Well, I’m going to try and get some sleep. Goodnight, Varric.”

Her footsteps are soft against the stone floor as she walks away. Varric sips his whiskey for awhile longer, tiredly staring into the fire and trying to find more answers for the questions he doesn’t have the words for yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translation  
> brasca - antivan for 'damn', 'shit' etc
> 
> can someone appreciate the title i rlly like that


	45. Shook Hands With the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira steps in between an angry Cassandra and Varric. Filler chapter.

Dorian and Subira are playing chess in the garden, as they often do, when a particularly thrilled looking Dalish skids to a stop at the table.

“The Seeker is about to charge, looks like she’s going after Varric,” the woman breathes with mirth, but the teenager swears and jumps to her feet.

Dorian waves her on, and with an apologetic look she bolts towards the Forge.

Dalish looks between where the girl was and where she went. Dorian shrugs. “Care to play?”

The mercenary eyes him suspiciously. “You’re a Vint.”

He laughs shortly. “And you’re a Dalish Elf,” he gestures to the empty seat with his eyebrow raised and cautiously, she takes it. Together, they reset the board.

“Where did you learn to play?” He asks conversationally, moving a pawn forward.

“Bull taught me, actually,” Dalish answers with a small quirk of her lips. “Him and Krem...”

_Meanwhile, at the in the Armory..._

“You conniving little shit!”

The Inquisitor darts up the stairs, pushing herself between Varric and Cassandra without thought.

 _“Oof,”_ she grunts when the table hits her stomach. That’s gonna bruise.

The other woman practically has steam coming from her ears and red in her eyes. Is that a vein popping out on her forehead?

“Move _aside,_ Inquisitor,” Cassandra growls through clenched teeth. “This is between Varric and I.”

“Kid, not that I don’t normally appreciate you, but I would appreciate it if you absolutely _do not_ move aside at the present moment,” Varric retorts dryly, leaning as far back as he can from the angry woman.

The Seeker seethes, “Your glib tongue does you no favors, dwarf!”

Varric scoffs haughtily - an odd stance, considering what position he’s currently in, “I seem to recall Mother Giselle saying the same to Dorian, but it’s worked out for him. And I was perfectly serious! Your fist has gotten _entirely too close_ to my face, Seeker.”

“Not close _enough_ if you ask me,” the Seeker says in a low voice, still trying to get around the Inquisitor to reach him. To do what, who can say. _Probably to hit or throttle him, though._

“Are you even going to listen to me, or are you going to keep acting like a mindless druffalo?” Varric grunts, getting pushed up against the railing by the Inquisitor’s arm. She shoots him an apologetic look, and he continues glaring at the Seeker.

“You _lied,_ Varric! I gave you your chance!” Cassandra seethes, hands clenched into fists.

“Can I have a say here, _or-“_ Subira tries, drowned out by the din of work down below and their explosive arguing.

“How could you _ever_ think I would tell you where she was?! Even if she could’ve gotten there in time, I wasn’t going to give her up! She’s my best friend! A concept you _never_ learned anything about!”

Cassandra practically snarls and lunges past an opening Anita accidentally left open, pushing her aside. In a split second decision the girl redirects her weight and rams herself into the dwarves side, making him stumble out of the way and taking the full hit to her cheek.

Stars explode in front of her eyes and pain blooms immediately in her lower jaw, feeling the blood pool in her mouth. She spits somewhere on the floor - something Varric does wince at, but she ignores him - and she leans heavily against the railing.

The blood drained from Cassandra’s face. _“Anita_ \- Inquisitor - _I-“_

“Are you _done?”_ Subira asks lowly, cupping her jaw with careful fingers. “Can you two sit down and talk like adults?”

Hawke chooses this moment to walk up the stairs, only her hairline appearing at first. “Wow, it looks like a bar fight and a hurricane had a baby up here,” she comments cheerfully, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

And then she continues over the arch to face them fully and rushes over to the Inquisitor, kneeling by her side. “Oh shit! What happened?”

“The Seeker happened,” Varric hatefully comments under his breath.

“A minor misunderstanding, Champion,” Anita mutters sarcastically. “No worries. They’re going to talk like adults about it now.”

Hawke frowns, prodding at the blooming bruise to the girls displeasure. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

The girl shrugs. “I’ve had worse. Talking back is a habit of mine that I’ve had trouble curbing.”

This only prompts a harsher frown from Hawke, but Subira nudges her away from her face. Practiced hands clean away the blood and uncomfortably wipe it onto her pants.

The Seeker is very quiet, sitting at the table with her hands folded over her mouth. Varric reluctantly takes a seat across from her, eyeing her like she may bite him at any moment.

“I should not be here,” the Seeker says eventually, eyes closed and voice low. “I have not earned it. I should have known you were lying. Hawke could have saved her, saved-“

Hawke whistles low, shaking her head. “That’s generous of you, Seeker, but I’m just a woman. I couldn’t have done more than the Inquisitor has.”

Varric sighs hard, pity and annoyance mixing on his face. “Seeker, if she had been there, Hawke might be dead too. The Chantry has done enough to her.”

Cassandra inhales deeply and nods. “... I know. I know.”

Varric does a double take. _“You_ \- did you just admit you were _wrong?_ Someone mark this down, I might be having a stroke.”

 _“Don’t_ push it, dwarf,” Cassandra warns half-heartedly. “I have not forgotten the trouble you’ve caused me regardless.”

Varric laughs low in his throat. “If it was the Inquisitor, would you protect her?”

The Seeker makes an indignant noise. “That’s nowhere near the same-“

He raises his eyebrows at her and gestures openly with his hands. “It is exactly the same,” she admits begrudgingly. “And I am a fool. A stubborn fool.”

“Glad we’re all on the same page now,” Hawke adds pleasantly, clapping the Inquisitor on the back. “Can we go get her face treated now?”

“Yes, of course,” Cassandra rushes to her feet, intending to assist, but Subira turns away slightly, but sways.

“I can just put an elfroot poultice on it. Don’t worry, it’ll heal. I’ve always healed quickly,” the girl mutters, eyes hazy and unfocused.

“Anita?” Cassandra asks softly, kneeling before her. The girl blinks slowly and furrows her brows.

“Yeah?”

Cassandra simply pulls the girl into a hug. Surprised, Anita collapses into it, wrapping her arms around the older woman’s neck.

“I’m really tired,” Anita murmurs into her neck.

Decision made for her, Cassandra stands and scoops the girl up into her arms, who hardly protests. Hawke watches with the smallest of smiles as the Seeker fusses over the girl in her arms while she descends the stairs.

Varric sighs deeply when they’re gone, rubbing a hand over his face. Hawke frowns.

“I don’t regret it,” he says eventually. “I’ll always protect you, Hawke.”

Hawke smirks slightly, shaking her head. “I think someone else needs your protection a little bit more, now. Though I am starting to question your method, Varric... Hiding behind a teenager?”

Varric holds his hands up. “In my defense, the Seeker is at a physical advantage! The kid just evened the playing field.”

They laugh and then sit quietly together, lost in their thoughts.

* * *

The next day, the Inquisitor appears quietly for drills. To give the Commander and the Seeker a break from personally overseeing her training, she asked Bull to spar with her. Dalish and Krem observe from a window in the tavern.

“Again!”

Anita dodges Bull’s attack and turns to block his next one, Her arms shook from the force of blocking his attack. She ducks under his large arm a moment later.

“Kid, defense will get you a long way, but you know you have to actually-“

She whacks him upside the back of the head with the long stick, a startled noise rumbling from his mouth and he stumbles, falling to his knees. “-attack.”

“Rule number one: never underestimate your opponent,” She mocks semi-smugly. One hand rests on her hip lazily.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get cocky now,” he grumbles, standing and rubbing his head. “Why did you want to practice with these, again? I thought these were the hittin’ sticks.”

“To strengthen my arms and improve my balance,” she replies immediately, circling him now. “Are you ready to keep going or are you going to _quit_ like a _quitter?”_

Bull scoffs and it rolls into a loud laugh. “Well, I don’t want to do that, now do I? Can’t be known as a quitting quitter. What would the Chargers think?”

Cassandra and Cullen observe curiously from the sideline as the Iron Bull and Anita spar with training sticks. He drills Anita relentlessly in an onslaught of attacks that she blocks and returns with flurries of movement. Soft steps approaching alert the two of them and they both look up to see Solas, for a rare twist, out of his rotunda and observing Anita.

“Inquisitor!” He calls, almost disapproving. Her head snaps up and then back to Bull, stumbling when he catches her off guard. “Correct your stance, and _then_ attack. Focus and find your balance. Where is he going to move next?”

Anita nods with a determined eye and Bull looks oddly betrayed.

“I did not know you were an expert in melee drills, Solas,” Cassandra comments with an eyebrow raised, in a way that could almost be considered humorous.

The mage merely smiles in his private, cryptic way. “Not at all. Fighting with those long sticks could be similar to fighting with a staff, I suppose. If one squints.”

Cullen barks a laugh. “If one squints and is visually impaired, then yes, I suppose you’re correct.”

Solas sighs, rocking back on his heels. “Mock if you wish, Commander, but _look.”_

Ahead, Anita has a look of pure focus on her face. Her breathing, while deep and heavy, is even. Bull pushes her back further and further and she waits, looking for the right opportunity.

In a flurry of attacks no one can track, Bull is suddenly on his back, Anita’s stick at his throat.

 _“Alright, alright,_ I yield! Damn, I almost prefer Cassandra hitting me upside the head with it,” he mutters, standing on his own so as not to pull her down with his weight and then ruffling her hair. “Nice work, kiddo. And you, Solas,” he nods at the mage. “Nice tips. Come out of your hidey-hole and watch her train more often, huh?”

Solas smiles slightly and ducks his head. “I will endeavor to, the Iron Bull. Commander, Cassandra,” he nods to them. “Oh, and Anita?”

Her ivy eyes are hopeful. “Yes?”

“Good footwork.” With that, he turns and walks back towards the stairs.

Triumphantly, Anita twirls the thick staff-like training stick in one hand expertly and stabs it into the ground with a grin.

Cullen finds himself smiling. “Ready to take me on?”

Anita doesn’t falter. “Are you sure you’re ready to take me on?”

The Commander laughs. “I’m sure we’ll find out.”

Cullen, as it turns out, is inexperienced fighting with the sticks. Anita stops them half way through, bored of redirecting his offensive tactics and practically twirling around him.

“Cullen, get a sword.”

“Funny,” he replies dryly, setting back into position. She stares back at him. _“Oh._ You’re serious.”

Her eyes roll. “Yes, I’m serious.”

Anita nods to her Qunari friend and he sighs, looking to Cassandra who, after a pause, inclines her head. Bull leaves for only a moment, ducking in and out of Forge and approaching with a wooden training shield and a dulled sword for Cullen, then backs up to the sidelines with Cassandra. Anita twirls the staff betwixt her fingers deftly, waiting for him to become adjusted.

“Lets go, Commander,” Anita taunts, brandishing it in front of her defensively.

Cassandra watches the way Anita fights. Every time Cullen clashes with the stick, Anita redirects it and dashes away, shifting the balance. _Odd._ Not quite a melee, _and yet..._

Cullen goes to nudge her with his shield, but she stops the motion with her stick. In his surprise, she twists and seizes the Commander’s sword, pulling back and turning to kick him in the chest. Wide eyed he falls to his knees, out of breath and stunned.

“Yield?” She asks, his sword at his neck.

“I yield, Inquisitor,” he complies, accepting her hand and watching with amusement as she struggles with his weight while trying to help him stand. “Next time, we will have you use tonfas. I think you’ll do well with them.”

The Inquisitor agrees without hesitation, eyeing the stick contemplatively. The Seeker and the Commander couldn’t be more proud of their pupil. However, the wind blows and the smell of the summer blossoms carries towards them and then the moment is gone entirely too soon.

Anita is disappearing into the quartermaster’s office to return the training stick and the shield. Cassandra watches her go with a frown while Cullen rolls out his shoulder.

Bull shakes his head, one hand on his hip.

 _“Speak,”_ Cassandra says impatiently.

He just shakes his head again, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

“Speak your mind, you clearly have something to say,” she urges again, almost stomping her foot in her insistence.

He sighs far more patiently than most would expect. “I can’t make you see what you don’t wanna see, Seeker.”

Cassandra frowns. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll figure it out,” he replies easily. _Who knows if it’ll be too late or not,_ he thinks.

Cullen sighs, eyes gazing towards the quartermaster's office. “I wonder why she took off so quickly. Did I offend her?"

The Seeker pats him on the shoulder. “You did not offend her, Cullen.”

“You haven’t noticed?” Bull asks incredulously, and then laughs. “Of course, Chantry types always think they see more than they actually do. I’m heading to the tavern. Tell the Inquisitor she fought well today.”

He takes long strides toward the Herald’s Rest before either of them can stop him. The Inquisitor exits the office, stretching and shaking out her hand as she goes.

“Thank you for sparring with me today, Commander,” Anita comments as she approaches, eyes far away on some balustrade of Skyhold.

He frowns. “It was no trouble, Inquisitor. Your form has greatly improved.”

She nods with a small, personal smile. “I have been studying under Solas. He’s a remarkable teacher.”

Cassandra frowns now. “You are studying melee under a mage?”

The Inquisitor still doesn’t look at them, smile disappearing. “Sparring with a mage prepares me for when I might have to,” she points out easily, the words sounding prepared. “And he knows about both staff-fighting and weapon fighting. It’s a win-win.”

“I see merit in that,” she agrees reluctantly, noting the things that she had seen in her fighting style earlier were, perhaps, from Solas’ teachings.

As the Inquisitor departs with Dalish with a strange look on her face, Cassandra can’t stop thinking about the way she brandished the training stick.

Cole appears beside her. Cassandra signs. “I have no inclination towards wanting to hear her thoughts, Cole.”

He shakes his head. “You’re hurt,” he replies softly. “I want to help.”

She snorts. “I’m not _hurt,_ Cole,” she struggles to find the word, “I’m... confused, I suppose. _Why_ she draws away from us. _How_ we can do _more_ and _why_ I don’t.”

He shakes his head. “You’re hurt, too. For her distance.”

She dips her head in agreement. “I am. But that can’t take priority.”

The spirit looks more disparaged than when he arrived, thus disappearing before Cassandra can even finish a blink. With a sigh, she goes to continue her daily routine. Strangely, she doesn’t remember what she was thinking about earlier.

She goes through the rest of her day on edge and distracted, even slightly remembering her conversation with Cole.

_But for the life of her, she cannot remember what she was thinking about..._


	46. Water Cold and Deep.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Su have some heart to heart when things become too overwhelming. Leliana still needs to perfect her parenting method. :exasperation: They leave for Crestwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not doing so hot depression and anxiety wise y’all and this story is kind of the only thing I do or wake up for anymore lol

Hawke hasn’t followed the kid around. Of course not, because that would be creepy and Hawke is a respectable, non-creepy member of society who does socially acceptable things.

 _Okay,_ she followed the kid around. But only for a little while! The Inquisitor is so similar to her and yet... so removed.

The Inquisitor dodged mostly everyone, stopping by the stables to see and dote on her horse (and, Hawke had noted pleasantly, that she stopped to pet Baby and give her a treat while she was there) and chat with the Warden Blackwall - who doesn’t actually talk all that much and mostly grunts his answers, but it seems to be enough for the girl - before whisking herself away to the servants entry to the kitchens.

Sitting on the kitchen counter snacking loudly on an apple was the elf from Denerim, Sera, being nagged at by the Head Cook to, _“get off and scram, why don’t ya!”_

Anita seemed more than happy to take Sera off of the cooks hands, goading her into a mock archery contest. And then they were off, Hawke inconspicuously trailing behind them - _the cooking staff didn’t seem at all amused when the tall, lanky Ferelden woman casually strolled through the kitchens, trying to pretend nothing was amiss_ \- and occupied for several hours.

While a spectacular show to watch - the Seeker nearly had a fit when she saw the stunts Sera and Anita were pulling - the real act was Anita herself. She holds herself back with all of them, it seems, even the elf who seems to have quite an attachment to her. And the overbearing Tevinter man, who, surprisingly, is not a slaver or terrible person.

That still shocks her every time she sees the man, truthfully... and then he opens his mouth and she’s reminded why she doesn’t like him much anyway. The only thing that sets him apart is his doting for the young girl, like a fussing mother hen.

Since she’s gotten here, Hawke has seen a few of her companions attempt to reach through to the girl only for her to retreat, namely Ambassador Josephine. It’s a bit like how in Lothering, her and Carver would try to get stray cats to come closer to them, but in their childish excitement ended up scaring them away, only a little different.

Hawke doesn’t remember how she ended up following the Inquisitor to the Rookery, she can just barely hear the conversation up the stairs from where she stands. It’s late now, and barely a soul is awake. That Tevinter man, Dorian, still sits in his self-proclaimed work-space, a glass of some sort of whisky in one hand and reading a large book that Hawke probably couldn’t understand if she tried.

The Spymaster seems exasperated more than anything with the girl, and Marian wonders if she even realizes how she comes off. The tone itself puts a barrier between them. She wonders if the girl is listening at all.

_All in all, it doesn’t seem to be going well._

“-have noticed you drawing away... wondered if everything was alright, Inquisitor... the mark?”

The pause before the Inquisitor’s answer makes Hawke imagine her lips pressing together in a thin line. “... not drawing away... right here, in front of you. May I go to bed now, _Spymaster?”_

Cautiously, Hawke inches upwards to get a better look at them and then winces. So really not going well then, huh.

Leliana makes a noise of frustration, stepping closer to the Inquisitor only for her to draw a step away. “... exactly the behavior we meant, Anita... say you are going to bed - going to sneak out and evade my agents once again?”

Anita’s lips pull back in a sneer, head rearing back. “... _babysitters,_ you mean?”

Hawke inches closer, sticking very close to the wall.

The Spymaster sighs, shaking her head. “They’re there for your protection, Anita!”

 _“What is there to protect?”_ Anita hisses under her breath. Leliana’s eyebrows draw together briefly.

The girl speaks again, louder this time. “We’ll never agree about that, but since I have no choice, it doesn’t matter. What _else_ do you want from me?”

“Do you remember how you treated Josephine just yesterday?” Leliana demands, planting her hands firmly on the table. _“I_ did not forget. _She_ did not. She thinks you hate her-“

The Inquisitor finally snaps, showing instead the startled child underneath. “I don’t hate her!”

“She does not know that,” Leliana challenges, straightening her back. “You no longer stop to sit with her, you snap at her frequently. No one knows why you’re acting out-“

“You know what? No offense, Leliana, but just because you’re the Spymaster doesn’t mean this is any of your business. Nothing is wrong, okay? And if there was, I think with all of the people constantly swarming me, someone would know. _So just drop it.”_

The Spymaster blinks before nodding slightly. “If that is what you wish, Inquisitor.”

Cole, having sat unnoticed to them both the entire time, watches sadly. Leliana’s confusion and Subira’s hurt are loud and he doesn’t know how much honeyed wine or sung Orlesian lullabies can make them better.

“It is what I wish,” she snapped, turning to walk away.

Her foot catches on the edge of a box that juts out and she stumbles, cheeks flaming. She hurries away before Leliana can ask if she wants help. Hawke is next to the doorway and can’t get away fast enough, the girl rounds on her.

 _“Bia,”_ she hisses without missing a beat, the familiar Rivaini startling Hawke momentarily. Thought she was Antivan. Strange.

And then she sweeps away into the dark shadows of Skyhold with Hawke rushing to catch up, quieting her own feet and quickened her step. She tries to focus on not tripping over herself.

_(It almost reminds her of how she used to be when she did the most ridiculous things in Hightown mansions or small Lowtown Alleys with Isabela or Anders or Varric in tow, alcohol on their breath and giggles flying in the night air.)_

There’s no time to think about that, though. They arrive to a door directly across from the Inquisitor’s room - which, she’s come to learn is a very tall tower that she _“is stuck in there more often than not,”_ Varric had said with a slow shake of his head - and small hands deftly unlatch and open it slowly, lifting the weight upwards so as not to stress the mechanisms and draw attention. Her eyes beckon Hawke through, and then the door closes behind them just as quietly as it was opened.

It’s nearly completely dark in the room that the Inquisitor brought them to, and she can barely hear her footsteps ahead of her.

 _“Inquisitor?”_ She calls uneasily into the dark room, barely able to see in front of her.

A small scraping sound is her answer, and then a flame is lit, a torch in her hand. She hangs it on the wall and turns to Hawke.

“So how did you know? And how’d you know I’d understand Rivaini?” Hawke asks first, curious.

The girl shrugs like it’s obvious, her confusing accent curling around the word. “You’re Ferelden, for one.”

The Champion laughs shortly, arms crossed over her chest. “There is that.”

And then the girl adds, “and because in Varric’s story about you, there’s a Rivaini pirate. Isabela? And my first thought was, _‘you two are totally b-‘“_

Hawke puts her hands out in front of her. “No, no, you don’t have to elaborate. I got it. Bela has taught me a few words, yeah.”

“Knew it,” she smirks, but it falls fairly quickly.

There’s a small period of silence, the fire on the wall flickering and spitting. The Inquisitor wears a frustrated expression.

“I did the same thing, you know,” Hawke decides to say, leaning herself up against the wall.

The Inquisitor scoffs, turning her eyes away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The older woman shakes her head. “No, I get it. I’m an orphan too, kid - my parents are dead. It’s easier to want to make everyone go away.”

Hawke sneaks a peek at the girl, who doesn’t interrupt, and she continues. “When my mother died... I didn’t talk to anyone for days. I realized - I thought I realized I was truly and finally alone.”

The teenager looks away, hands curling into tight, shaking fists. “You don’t get anything.”

“I do, though. And you’re not alone,” Hawke insists, pushing just a bit further through that wall.

“You know _nothing!”_ The girl behind the Inquisitor finally cracks through, bright tears in her eyes when she turns to face her fully.

The light from the torch illuminates the rivers about to overflow in her ivy eyes. She slams her marked fist into the wall, hissing in pain when it lights up in response, almost indignantly.

“I’m not a person here! I’m an _object!_ Just like I’ve always been and I just-“

The Inquisitor lets out a sigh that sounds like a sob, approaching the wall and sliding down to the floor. “I just wanted to be _free,”_ she laughs tearfully, hands coming up into her hair and choking on a sob. “And now I’m trapped. I don’t have anyone anymore. _I’m doomed.”_

Hawke slides down next to her, wrapping an arm around her.

“I might not understand exactly,” she says quietly, “but I know enough. Let it out, kiddo. I’ve got you.”

The Inquisitor’s lip wobbles for a moment before she lets go, the tears finally leaking onto her cheeks when her eyes close and muffled sobs erupting from her.

Hawke brings her closer, thinking of all the times she had comforted Bethany like this - when the Templars chased them from town to town in the back of covered wagons before they settled in Lothering, when the village boys would tease her, when Mother and Father fought. She really misses her sister - and wishes she had hugged her more, said sorry more and most of all, kept her _safe._

But she hugs the Inquisitor to her side and calms her when she worries about getting tears on her shirt. The girl buries her face in it, hands trembling from where they clutch the thick hide.

Hawke is reminded that, for once, she drew the lucky straw out of someone - she was not a teenager when she arrived to Kirkwall. She was not alone - she found a family in Kirkwall.

The Inquisitor, still a child, really, has never had that. The girl trembles in her grip like she’ll crumble if she lets go. Marian hugged her tighter, shushing her gently and petting her hair.

Maybe she can’t hug Bethany right now. But that’s okay. She’ll save her some for later. The Inquisitor needs them right now.

* * *

Today, they leave for Crestwood. Iron Bull and the Chargers were dispatched yesterday to the Hissing Wastes, accompanied by Dorian, to finish up. Blackwall, Vivienne and Sera headed back to the Approach as well to clean up the remaining Venatori in tandem with the Chargers, and they’ll head back to Skyhold when they’ve finished.

“Alright honey, let’s go,” Subira murmurs to Hyundai, petting his neck.

Cole, Solas, Varric and Cassandra are all coming to Crestwood with her while Hawke departed the day before, intending to catch up with her contact ahead of them.

“Safe travels, Inquisitor!” Josephine yells from the stairs, a worried crease in her eyebrows.

Subira feels a pang of guilt in her chest for how distant she’s been, thinking back to her conversation with Hawke.

**It’s easier to want everyone to go away.  
**

She swallows and finds it in her to call back, “Thank you, Ambassador. I know you’ll take good care of Skyhold for me.”

Leliana appears next to the woman, similarly concerned and yet silent, her lips drawn into a thin line. Subira nods at her before turning, kicking Hyundai to the front and whistling to get the processions attention.

Cassandra meets her eye and clears her throat, to call in her deep voice, “Inquisition! Let’s move.”

Cries of _“for the Inquisition!”_ And _“for the Inquisitor!”_ Go up as multiple horse drawn wagons pull out of Skyhold, accompanied by mounted soldiers and agents. The Inquisitor’s main party trots out of the keep after it. Subira keeps her waterproof hood up.

“You look ridiculous, Anita,” Cassandra scoffs, ever the mother hen.

Varric smiles in his easy way. “Let her live, Seeker.”

Solas seems amused from the back of his horse, hands quiet in his lap and legs steady against the horses side.

“Listen, I heard it’s rainy in Crestwood, and who knows when the weather will change,” Subira shrugs. _“Plus,_ I look cooler!”

Varric laughs loudly, slapping his thigh. “Spending time with Hawke, Spitfire?”

Her blush burns on her cheeks, thankfully covered by her hood - another perk, it seems - and she draws out a hum. _“... maybe?”_

Cassandra groans, Solas shakes his head. “Faith, dear Seeker. I have a feeling this is only the beginning of our trip.”

Her disgusted noise becomes louder and more pronounced.

“It’s only about a weeks worth of travel,” Subira notes happily, mentally accounting for rest time and chalking it up to around five days of travel without complications.

Cole says nothing for many hours, much as he usually does, except differently. There’s almost a physical thundercloud above his head, tangling up his thoughts and consuming him. No one bothers the spirit-boy, preferring to travel on in silence than bring to light whatever could make Compassion so glum.

They aren’t a chatty bunch, except for Varric, and even his thoughts are rather tangled at the moment. Subira spends most of it in deep contemplation over the Crows and the Conclave.

 _There’s no way they haven’t seen her._ They have informants _everywhere -_ she’d know, she was one. It doesn’t make sense that they wouldn’t try something - or maybe it’s the end of the world holding them off?

Unknown to the rest, some of her memory was recovered over time and rest - head injuries are nasty business, after all - and as she continues on, the less she believes that her former employers had anything to do with this. _Meaning it was absolutely her own choices that she’s probably going to be in so much trouble for._

It leads her into frantic thinking about Fiona, and what could’ve happened at the White Spire and Montsimmard right before the Conclave - which, there is no rational point in doing, for having been at all three places are things she cannot recall in any amount of detail, and when she tries the white noise in her head becomes an overpowering buzzing, blanking out anything else around her and making it hard to think.

Some nights she contemplated just coming clean and spilling her connection to the rebel mages, if only to clear her name - because she knows without a doubt that even if she doesn’t remember exactly what happened, it wasn’t Andraste and she wasn’t there to assassinate anyone. (Hopefully)

She’s just some kid who got caught in the middle while trying to give mages freedom. That’s it.

Her thoughts are interrupted by painful stinging in her arm and hand, similar to pins and needles with harsh pressure underneath.

Something _bad_ is happening somewhere far away. The veil is being tugged at unnaturally and it’s pulsing through her with every impatient yank. She hasn’t been able to sleep for many nights, reminding her of when they stayed in the Western Approach and how shadows dogged her every step.

Solas quietly brings her away from camp most nights to practice. With both mages on edge, as the nights go on and Subira more reluctant to push her mana, they clash. Frustrated tears continue to, night after night, build up in her eyes, while a slight flush spreads on Solas’ cheeks as his seemingly never ending patience begins to run out.

“Control the current, Anita!” He snaps, spreading his hands for emphasis.

“I’m _trying!”_ She growls, the green electricity growing and meeting the mark on her hand.

For a split second, Solas seems to realize his mistake and reaches out for her, and then her ears are ringing and she’s on the ground.

 _“Anita!_ Anita, can you hear me?” Solas shakes her by the shoulders, worried grey eyes set upon her.

“I’m... fine,” she slurs with a lopsided grin. “I did it!”

He laughs breathily, shaking his head. “Gods be damned, child. You’re going to be the death of me. We’re done for the night. Wonderful job, Anita."

She smiles at him before her eyes close of their own volition, vaguely realizing that Solas is carrying her minutes later. His wolf-pelt is far softer than she thought... _He’s also a lot stronger than she thought he would be._

“Is that a compliment, _da’lan?”_ Solas asks with a raised brow, not looking down but still amused.

Anita blushes. She has got to stop saying things out loud. “You’re just... not the type that looks like they could carry me, is all.”

Solas smiles in his small, private way. “Thankfully for us, I’m far stronger than I appear.”

 _Safe. Warm._ Subira curls into his arms and doesn’t fear falling asleep as he walks back to camp, knowing he’ll chase the demons away. He holds her protectively and looks down on her fondly while she slips into the Fade and then sadly as she rests.

_It will ache when he has to leave._

But his duty to his people comes first. _It must._

He lays her next to the Seeker, who lifts her head blearily and he presses a finger to his lips, pointing to the rare state of her resting. Cassandra snorts, likely assuming he found her asleep somewhere - as they often do, for she will fall asleep in trees and against the ground - and rolls over, closer to the Inquisitor who curls up next to her.

He tucks the blanket around her shoulders  and is prepared to leave it at that. But then she squirms in congruence with the mark on her hand and in a moment of weakness he pauses and murmurs, _“esay dhrua, da’adahl. Ma melava halani, ir abelas.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translation  
> igbo/rivaini  
> bia - come/follow  
> esay dhrua. - i made this, it means attempt to have faith or believe.  
> da’adahl - little tree.  
> Ir abelas. - i am sorry.  
> \- ma melava halani, -“You have spent your time to help me.” archaic and used for close family and friends.  
> so the whole sentence is, "have faith, little tree. you have spent your time to help me. i am so sorry." < (for what is to come, is the implication here)


	47. They Might See You Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crestwood in a nutshell. Introducing not one, but two Grey Wardens. Shit gets tense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say again: thank you for the overwhelming support for me and my story. It means a lot that you guys see the person behind the author and care enough to check in on me. Remember to take care of yourselves, too! Drink some water, get some rest, wash your face. Take your medicine if you haven’t. Anyway, enjoy this update. <3

It’s slick and foggy. That’s the only way to describe Crestwood aside from haunted. An eerie green glow flashes from afar every now and then and the Inquisitor shudders every time, playing it off as cold.

Lace Harding is the most exciting part of arriving to Crestwood and she greets her happily, allowing an agent to take Hyundai to a nice dry barn to be dried off with towels and put to rest while his rider leaves. The other mounts receive the same treatment and everyone seems uncomfortable standing on the uneven, muddy ground.

“Welcome to Crestwood, Your Worship,” Lace says sweetly, reaching out to clasp one of her hands tightly. “It’s been awhile, huh?”

 _“Lace,_ you know you can call me Anita,” the girl admonishes, squeezing back. “And it has, you’ve been working hard.”

The woman pulls back and laughs. “That’s true. Sister Nightingale has me working around the clock.”

“Do you need time off?” The Inquisitor asks worriedly.

Lace laughs gently. “No, Anita, don’t worry. I’m doing what I’m best at.”

Anita nods slowly. “Alright... _but_ if you ever do, let me know.”

Handing over several reports in a lanolin-waterproofed bag, the agent smiles. “Of course. Your Worship,” she bows and departs with advice to start towards the town.

“I’m not reading any of these until we're somewhere with shelter,” Anita grumbles, throwing the bag over her shoulder.

“That’s fair,” Varric comments easily, wrapped up tight for once, no chest hair in sight.

There are brightly shining soldiers moving through the pathways on the way to the town and two of them are stationed on a corner.

“Hello? I’m - oh, _shit,_ you’re Grey Wardens!” Anita exclaims, inspecting the griffons on their armor and the bright blue fabric sticking out of their shoulders. “Do you know what’s going on in the town? What are you even doing here?”

Her question is punctuated by loud, roaring thunder and a crack of lightning somewhere in the distance. One of the Wardens has a clear Ferelden accent, the other an Orlesian, and they inspect the Inquisition symbol flying from the banners in the ground and on her armor.

“The Inquisition... Thank the Maker,” the Ferelden one says breathlessly. “Hopefully you can help the people here. There are corpses rising from the lake, it’s said. And that demon-rift...”

“Why can’t you?” Her head tilts almost innocently, but analyzing the men harshly. “You’re Grey Wardens, aren’t you?”

The Ferelden one ducks his head in apology, “I am sorry, young one. But we cannot interfere or help the people here, we have direct orders. We’re looking for someone. A... fugitive.”

With that, the Wardens march off after more Wardens that pass by. The group, very concerned, continues their trip towards the town.

The town is a mess, with refugees crying and motherless children weeping in Chantry sisters arms. The Inquisitor seems to want to step towards them but Cole tugs her back wordlessly and she allows herself to be directed toward the Mayor, knocking on the door and blinking when it swings open.

“Hello?” She calls hesitantly, finding a very startled and finicky man.

The Mayor clears his throat. “Oh, yes, hello. You must be the Inquisition. We were hoping you could help.”

“It seems the only way to close that rift is to drain the lake,” Cassandra says, straight to the point.

The man pales. “The whole lake? Are you sure? There’s bandits holed up in the dam control-“

The Inquisitor stands a bit taller. “We’ll take care of your bandit problem and fix the rift at the same time. No more demons, no more dead people, no more bandits.”

He looks between the four pairs of probing  eyes and sighs. “Here,” he hands the key to Cassandra and not the Inquisitor. “The key to the dam. Thank you for this.”

The Seeker grunts and turns to leave while Anita practically storms out. _“Let’s go save this ungrateful ass,”_ she mutters under her breath.

On their way through the village, Anita stares at the young children without parents, being cared for in a small building converted into a care facility for them. They have steaming cups, most likely of water or soup, and most have red noses.

A Chantry Mother kneels beside a makeshift graveyard forlornly. Cassandra stops by her side, the Eye Of Truth startling the woman. “Are you alright?”

“The Right Hand!” She gasps, and then looks at the companions. “You must be the Inquisition. Oh, we’re blessed,” she smiles softly. “Thank you, dear. It is just the dead we lost in old Crestwood... they never got put to rest.”

Cassandra thinks of the growling, restless dead in the Necropolis and the constant moaning and scratching. With a shudder, she replies, “we’ll find them.”

The Inquisitor does not comment, her eyes fixed far away. When Varric nudges her, she says, “yes, we will.”

They see wolves lurking at every turn as they begin their walk to their destination. Green eyes flash and their mouths foam when they snarl, but they don’t attack. They seem oddly on edge and yet, not willing to attack.

“Anyone else concerned by the demonic wolves watching us like a-”

“For once, Varric, shut your mouth and keep moving,” Cassandra hisses, moving quickly towards the bridge leading to the dam.

“Here goes nothing,” Anita sighs, opening the door.

_“Blessed Andraste!”_

_“Merde!”_

Cassandra gasps, “Inquisitor, shield your eyes!”

“Out here, _really?”_ Varric asks in disbelief.

Solas narrows his eyes at the dwarf as the couple redress quickly, fumbling with apologies. “That is what you are focused on?”

“It’s cold and wet out here!” Varric points out loudly.

The man sighs. “With how crowded the town is, it’s impossible to... you know! We thought here it would be private.”

With a blush spreading rapidly across dark features, the Inquisitor stands with a hand covering her eyes. “Well, uh... you have a nice day? You might want to bundle up, by the way.”

Awkwardly, the now clothed couple waves to the party as they continue on. “Alright, let’s take this place out. Caer Bronach, here we come.”

Cassandra pulls the girl back by her shoulder. “Allow me to enter, please?”

Anita groans. _“Fine.”_

The warrior shoulders into the door and splinters through it, hefting her shield high. Arrows fly into it immediately and she motioned for them to move in as Solas casts a barrier on them all.

The Inquisitor twirls across the battlefield, and at first Cassandra fears she bears no weapon at all. But held against her forearms are two poles of wood, presumably weighted, held in her hands with small, razor sharp serrated blades along the edge not facing her forearm. It allows her to switch between offensive and defensive easily and the way she fights is aggressive, more force and balance in her moves.

One archer has his bow drawn behind her and she turns, smacking him across the jaw with a _thwack_ and a harsh cracking noise definitely indicating a broken jaw. She twirls, pushing him forward and then jamming her weapon into his back. Throwing one of her weapons back into it’s sheath, she yanked his hair back to slit his throat with the small blades on her other weapon.

“You took Cullen’s suggestion to heart, then,” Cassandra comments loudly over the noise of fighting as she passes by, bashing her shield into a bandit and slicing diagonally before slamming her sword into his stomach and then whirling around onto the next.

“Tonfas are really versatile,” the Inquisitor yells back, forcefully throwing someone forward over the wall. “Is that the last of them?”

“Should be,” Varric says, collecting his intact bolts and trying not to wince from the dead bodies.

“Alright. We should send a raven to the Camp, tell them to set up here while we go deal with the dam.” The Inquisitor says, turning left and right and then leaning over the side of the large Caer.

Cassandra’s breath catches in her throat. “Inquisitor, it’ll take hours to find a raven, and you should-“

A soft whistle and then a raven just... flies onto the outstretched arm of Anita, who turns with a pleased expression.

 _“-be careful,”_ she finishes lamely.

The raven, with dark beady eyes, peers at her strangely with its head tilted. And then she sees a glint of verdant, swirling inside its iris hazily.

_Like the wolves._

“How did you _do_ that?” The Seeker asks in awe, watching the raven preen it’s feathers from the spot on her arm while Anita quickly pens a letter.

The young girl shrugs. “Perhaps I’m a raven whisperer,” she fans out her fingers whimsically.

Then with a smile and a kiss to its beak, she sends the raven off. Cassandra watches in disbelief as it flies in the direction of the camp.

In the rain.

“Let’s go drain the dam. I’m going to leave a note right... here,” Anita decides, quickly scribbling out a note and placing it front and center.

> For the Incoming Agents of Caer Bronach,
> 
> Welcome from the Inquisitor. My companions and I are set out to close the large rift located under Crestwood. The dam will drained by this point, and one of the Chantry Mother’s asks a favor.
> 
> There are dead from Old Crestwood that never got put to rest - she wishes for them to be recovered and marked.
> 
> Do not attempt until the rift is closed and the demons and undead are gone. I don’t want anyone putting themselves in unnecessary danger.
> 
> Thanks for all you do,
> 
> _**Inquisitor A.T.** _

“Professional and classy, Spitfire, I like it,” Varric comments with a grin, but she barely returns it.

“Let’s go meet Hawke, hm?”

It’s still raining heavily and they have to avoid several Orlesian Wardens on the way there. The trip takes about two hours to get to a Camp that Inquisition soldiers set up called the ‘Three Trout Camp’.

After switching out the Inquisitor’s tonfas for a very sharp, but thin, pair of daggers and replacing their potions, the group continues on.

The place looks abandoned when they get there and she curiously continues forward in the dark. “Hello?”

A light is just a few more feet ahead and when she continues there’s a door with a Tevinter Slaver trademark on the door. She frowns and goes to grab the handle...

_Don’t!_

Had she not darted out of the way, she’d have been ensconced in ice. She stands blinking at the frozen crystals crawling on the ground and reaching towards her. Hawke, ever the one for timing, comes running in.

 _“Easy,_ Sidona! She’s a friend!”

“A heads up would have been nice, Hawke,” the response drawls.

A Grey Warden appears from around the corner further inside the cave with a frown that is probably permanently etched into her face and eyeing them warily. Curiously, while she has a thick Orlesian accent, she bears Dalish vallaslin.

Another Grey Warden, a warrior with a bushy mustache, appears from the side as well. “Lay off it, Andras,” the man says gruffly, crossing his arms.

The mage disperses the ice with a huff. “Is this the Inquisition, then?”

“Hi?” Subira greets hesitantly, stepping forward before Cassandra can introduce them, trying to be more responsible. “I am the Inquisitor, coming on behalf of the Inquisition.”

The mage, Sidona, sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Hawke. You failed to mention that the Inquisitor is a child.”

Subira scowls and snaps, “Well if you don’t want our help, you don’t want our help.”

Sidona’s mouth curves up in a smirk. “That’s better.”

Dumbfounded, Subira’s mouth falls open of its own accord, but no sound comes out. _What is it with people apart of age-old orders and riddles?_

“You passed, kiddo. Just go with it,” Hawke whispers into her ear.

“Introductions are in order,” the mage-Warden says, drawing her shoulders back. “I am Warden Commander of Ferelden Sidona Andras. Or, rather, the _former_ Warden-Commander.”

 _“Former?”_ Cassandra exclaims immediately with a frown. “But you saved Vigils Keep, did you not? And the Amaranthine?”

Every head turns to look at the Seeker and she seems to realize her mistake of speaking so hastily, a bright blush appearing on her cheeks. “What? I am a Seeker. It is important to keep up.”

“I did do those things,” Sidona agrees with a slight incline of her head. “I was Commander up until recently - I’m sure the First Warden is going to have a fit when he finds out I left my post. I left a...” her nose crinkles up slightly. “... _friend,_ in charge. He won’t let anything happen to Vigils Keep or Ferelden while I’m gone. I trust my Wardens.”

Solas’ eyebrows are furrowed. “If you had so much command over Ferelden, why are you here?”

The mage looks him over before clicking her tongue loudly with a roll of her eyes and turning back to the others. “Warden Stroud can explain from here.”

The other Warden steps forward. “I am Warden Jean-Marc Stroud. I am at your service, Inquisitor.”

Subira smiles sympathetically. “I’ll do what I can to help the Wardens, Stroud, but it seems that our troubles now have a common enemy?”

He shakes his head. “I am afraid so. When my friend Hawke slew Corypheus, Weisshaupt was happy to put the issue to rest.”

Solas’ unease with the Wardens seems to grow and Varric crosses his arms, clearly not pleased by what he’s hearing. Cole is quiet.

“But an archdemon can live even if it’s ‘killed’,” Sidona continues for him casually, inspecting her nails in a bored tone. “Fatal wounds can be deceiving. Stroud and I believe Corypheus possesses the same ability as an archdemon, but we have little proof.”

Stroud shakes his head. “I began an investigation, but while I found clues, I found little else. And then soon after, every Warden in Orlais began to hear the calling.”

Hawke jumps slightly, “You never told me!”

Stroud sighs, refusing to make eye contact and Sidona looked her up and down. “It is - _was_ \- a Grey Warden matter. We are bound by an oath of secrecy.”

Subira stays quiet. Cassandra is the one who inquires about the Calling.

“The calling is what tells a Warden when it is time for us to pick up a weapon and head to our deaths,” Sidona answers bluntly, eyes even. “It means the Blight will soon claim him.”

“It begins with dreams, and then whispers. The Warden says his farewells and sets off to the Deep Roads to meet his death in combat.” Stroud finishes for her, seeming uneasy.

Everyone except Subira looks considerably nauseous, though she does repress a shudder.

Hawke whispers, “and every Warden in Orlais is hearing that right now? They think they’re _dying?”_

Stroud nods. “Yes, and likely because of Corypheus. If the Warden's fall, who will stand against the next Blight?”

“It is a Wardens greatest fear,” Sidona agrees seriously, without a hint of her previous jaunt.

“They’re playing right into his hands,” Hawke says in frustration, resting her head on the stone wall. “They’re terrified.”

Subira speaks up quietly. “Is the calling they’re hearing real? Or is it just Corypheus mimicking it?”

“I know not. Even as a Senior Warden, I had only heard the vaguest whispers of Corypheus,” Stroud replies apologetically.

“I had heard of him, but I never had a reason to investigate myself. A harmless, contained darkspawn in the Free Marches?” Sidona shrugs emotionlessly. “All we know is that the Wardens believe this calling is real. And unfortunately, they will act accordingly. We’re a stubborn bunch.”

Hawke mutters, _“tell_ me about it.”

“Are you two also hearing this calling?” Subira asks worriedly.

“Yes,” both Wardens answer at the same time, meeting each other’s eyes briefly. When Sidona doesn’t continue, Stroud does. “It is like a wolf lingering in the shadows around a campfire. The creature who makes this music has never known the love of the Maker and _yet..._ at times, you begin to understand it.”

Cassandra huffs in frustration. “How can Corypheus make all of the Wardens hear this Calling?

“We know not,” the other warrior answers apologetically, to the woman’s displeasure. “We know little about him, save that he is a dangerous darkspawn who talks with the voice of the Blight.”

Sidona picks up where he left off. “This allows him to speak to the Wardens and affect their minds, as we are intrinsically tied to the Blight.”

Stroud nods along, rubbing his chin. “It must be how he created the fake Calling.”

Varric scoffs. “So the Wardens are making some last, desperate attack against the darkspawn?”

Sidona bares her teeth and practically rises on her haunches, the most emotive she’s been the entire time. _“We_ are the only ones who can end a Blight - the only ones who can kill an Archdemon. Without us, the next Blight would _consume_ Thedas. We make the Ultimate Sacrifice - Do _not_ speak out of turn, child of the Stone.”

Stroud tries to lay a soothing hand on her arm and she turns away, clearly upset.

He clears his throat. “The Warden Commander Of Orlais, Clarel, proposed a blood-magic ritual to prevent future Blights before we perished. I protested the idea. My comrades turned on me, and I had to flee. Thus I felt it necessary to call in my friend from Ferelden - previously a friend from Orlais.”

Sidona turns back, arms crossed over her chest and emotion wiped from her expression, replaced with the bored expression she wore earlier. “I knew this Calling wasn’t real from the beginning. I have been a Warden for a long time, longer than I was a First Enchanter. I knew I must help Stroud, not only for Orlais or the Wardens, but for Thedas. I’m sure I’ll be getting called to Weisshaupt after all this is over.”

The Commander seems distressed still. Stroud removes a map from his jacket, laying it on a nearby crate. “Here,” he points to an Ancient Tevinter ritual tower in the Western Approach. “There are Wardens gathering here. Meet us here, Inquisitor, and together we shall find the answers.”

“It was an honor meeting you both,” she replies genuinely. “Thank you for trusting me. I won’t let you down.”

Hawke claps a hand onto the girl’s frizzy, wet hair and ruffles it, to her displeasure. “We’ll _destroy_ Corypheus.”

“I wonder how King Alistair is doing,” the former Commander wonders aloud behind her. “... we send a letter? ... if he also hears the Song?”

Hawke stays with the Wardens, promising to catch up at Skyhold and travel with them to the Approach. And then they’re off to close the rift, walking several miles through Old Crestwood.

A tugging on her chest and tingling in her hand occurs as they pass by one of the absolutely ravaged houses from the remains of Old Crestwood. She enters the house without alerting her companions, very carefully stepping over rotting wood and jagged stones. She makes a startled squeak, coming face to face with a very annoyed wraith.

“Ah, shit,” she murmurs, hearing her confused companions outside. Then she takes a deep breath, swallows and shrugs.

_“Hello?”_

The wraith finally notices her and if it had a scowl, there would be one planted on its face. _“You!_ I order you to tell me why nothing here heeds my commands!”

She blinks. “I’m not sure? Try explaining the problem to me and I’ll try to help.”

The wraith pauses and almost huffs, realizing that she isn’t harmful and has a modicum of patience. “Very well,” it says. “This-“

Solas enters the house first and excitement blooms across his face immediately. “A lost spirit! This should-“

“Silence! Let the other one talk,” the wraith motions to Subira, annoyed at his loud interruption. Solas, curiously, obeys, watching in fascination. Varric, Cole and Cassandra enter the house not long after.

“I have a friend here! He might be able to help?” The girl suggests, looking over at Cole.

The spirit seems uneasy. “Uh, maybe...” he looks at the wraith. “My name is-“

The wraith scoffs. “Ugh! _Compassion._ Did I _ask_ your name?”

Cole shrinks back underneath his hat. _“Sorry.”_

The Inquisitor frowns at the wraith. “I said I’d listen to you, spirit. Please do the same courtesy to my guests?”

Cassandra and Varric hold their breath, but the wraith simply nods. “Very well, human. You are the first to reflect true patience and kindness in some time. I will listen.”

She smiles. “Thank you, spirit. Now, if Cole can’t help you, then perhaps Solas can. The Fade is his expertise.”

The spirit grumbles. “Tell me why nothing here changes!”

Solas, feathers puffed up and quite pleased at being called on, steps forward. “This realm follows different rules than the Fade. Will alone cannot overcome what you see.”

This does not please the wraith at all. “Then what’s the _point_ of it?” It demands incredulously.

Solas shakes his head. “A solid form is both shackle _and_ strength. It affects more than you can imagine.”

Cassandra frowns. “This is not safe, Inquisitor.”

“It’s a harmless spirit, Seeker,” the girl replied defiantly, her arms crossed.

The Seeker crosses her own arms. “Any ‘harmless spirit’ can become a demon.”

The wraith swells up in anger. “Nonsense! I am in control of my fate.”

Cassandra scowls. “I was not addressing- _ugh.”_

“Demons... _ugh,”_ the wraith complains in a near mimicry of the Seeker, causing her to make a vaguely-offended noise. “Those dolts who would suck this world dry? I am called to _higher_ things.”

The Inquisitor steps closer, to the impending heart attack of Varric. “You must embody something, right? I mean, all powerful spirits do. Compassion, Justice, Wisdom...”

The wraith laughs haughtily. “Those are soft virtues! I am more. I am _Command.”_

 _“-or pomposity-“_ Solas mutters under his breath

“That makes a lot of sense,” Varric comments in the back, elbowing Solas in the side.

“And what of you?” The spirit asks curiously, peering almost through the girl. “I felt your coming. Do I sense something alike in us?”

The Inquisitor looks down at her hand. “You must’ve felt my mark,” she looks back up. “What’s so distressing about the real world, Command?”

The Spirit huffs. “It _ignores_ me! I order the rocks to part, and they do not. I bid the sky draw close, and it stays still! I have no idea how you mortals stand it.”

Subira laughs a little. “We get used to it. But if you hate it here so much, why haven’t you returned to the Fade?”

If the spirit could’ve rolled its eyes, it would’ve. “I will not be denied. I refuse to leave until something follows my orders!”

The Inquisitor smiles. “I feel compelled to help you. I pledge myself to your service, Command. Give me an order so you may return to the Fade.”

The spirit fills with excited energy. “Excellent! I have one command. A creature made of Rage had the gall to chase me across the lake! Kill it in my name, and be rewarded.”

Solas makes a noise of approval. “A simple enough request. The demon could hurt others as well.”

Cassandra sighs in exasperation, accepting of the fact that her opinion is going to be ignored. “At least killing a demon is worthy of us.”

The Inquisitor bows slightly to the spirit. “It shall be done.”

The spirit, seemingly done with the conversation, floats away to inspect other odd things. They continue on their way, happening upon a house.

“Should we check on whoever it is?” She asked worriedly.

Cassandra considers it, and then nods. “It cannot hurt.”

Subira leads them up the path and to the door and knocks twice. The door swings open to reveal a slightly frazzled looking, middle-aged woman.

“Oh, are you that woman? Judith?” Subira asks hopefully, wincing at the crack of thunder.

“Gauld mentioned me, didn’t he” she says with an unimpressed look. At the girls nod, she sighs. “He means well, but I’m just fine out here! The only problem is that wyvern and the dragon that’s taken up near Caer Bronach.”

The Inquisitor blinks. “Oh.”

The woman continues thoughtfully, “I’d go kill the damn wyvern myself, but I don’t have the materials to do that. The organs from that would be wonderful...”

“If we end up where the wyvern is, we’ll take care of it. I’ll let Gauld know you’re okay when we return to town.” Subira replies.

Judith beams. “Oh, thank you. You’re so kind.”

The girl nods and turns to leave, continuing up the path towards the mine.

“Let’s close this rift and then head straight back to town,” she suggests as they climb down the rickety steps and drops of water fall on them from above.

“Excellent idea,” Solas praises quietly.

“I concur,” Cassandra agrees, wanting to get in and out of there as fast as possible.

The long, careful walk reveals sudden ghouls, which Subira alerts her companions to by flinging one over the side hissing and clawing. She punctuates it with a, _“watch out!”_

When the last one is dead and they’ve caught their breath they continue down the stairs. Suddenly, the pull of the rift becomes so strong that she stumbles to her knees and groans in pain, hearing the steps creak.

_“Anita!”_

_“Spitfire!”_

_“Inquisitor!”_

“Oh, _merde...”_ she swears right before it falls out from under her.

A barrier is cast over her, hiding the shimmer of her own protective ward, created in the privacy of her room and meant to protect her from hurt as a fail-safe. It’s only a first draft type thing.

However, when she hits the bottom back first she still coughs and gags, barely able to move. Now she’s glad Solas threw a barrier over her.

Her ears ring and her vision is barely visible, and the others are yelling things unintelligible to her. She’s startled to her feet by the sheer amount of undead and demons around her.

She dances and dodges, trying desperately not to trip and fall and lose her life while the mark sparks wildly on her hand. Her companions finally make it down the stairs and jump into battle, Cassandra immediately distracting a giant rage demon from Subira’s blindside.

While fighting, Subira has a horrifying realization:

_Some of these corpses are children.  
_

When the rift is ready to close she doesn’t hesitate, throwing her hand up and then collapsing to the ground to throw up the contents of her stomach.

 _“Children._ There are _children_ here,” she heaves out, spitting out bile.

The rest look around in growing horror.

“They were families,” Cole murmurs. “Fleeing the Blight. They had no time. Drowned together.”

Subira throws up again and Cassandra scolds Cole. Her entire body shakes and Varric makes her drink water - which she also throws up - which Solas chastises him for, prompting an argument that makes her head pound.

Eventually they’re able to move on, treading carefully through the underground cavern.

“Dwarven?” Subira asks in fascination, a hand running across the wall.

“Oh yeah, Spitfire,” Varric grins. “The ancient dwarves had underground cities everywhere, once upon a time. Or, so they say.”

A draft feels like its coming from the left and so they follow it faithfully, leading them to a ladder and a door out of that horrible place.

Crestwood is entirely different when they exit. The rain still falls, but the sun is out and shines across the hills and wet rocks.

“Oh, wow,” she gapes. The sun is just barely setting over the horizon. “We should begin traveling back to the town. I’m sure they have somewhere we can stay for the night.”

“Are you sure about that, Spitfire?” Varric asks cautiously, looking left and right.

“If we wait any longer, we’re going to miss any sunlight we could have, and invite trouble,” she sing-songs from ahead of them. The others rush to catch up with her.

It’s over two hours of a walk before they make it back to Crestwood. As they’re approaching the final stretch to the town, the wolves that she knew were following them finally make themselves known. With glowing green eyes and panting mouths, they circle the group calmly.

Cassandra tries to draw her weapon, but Subira holds up a hand and slowly falls to one knee. A large wolf with black fur and swirling emerald eyes walks around from the back, clearly the leader of the pack.

She sniffs her face, and then leans down to the mark, covered by a glove. The wolf practically narrows her eyes at the glove, starting up a low growl in the back of her throat. With slow hands, she pulls off the glove and offers her bare hand to the wolf. Her eyes, unbeknownst to her, flash in tandem with its own. The wolf snorts at it, nuzzles into her face briefly, and turns to walk back into the woods. The other wolves follow suit. The green swirling in her eyes ceases as the wolves depart and she tugs the glove back on over the mark.

“Solas, What was that?” Cassandra demands.

The elf seems stunned. “I have no idea, Seeker. I will consult with Helisma.”

Subira does not talk the entire walk back to the town, with very few lights still lit. They knock loudly on the Mayors door and it swings open, revealing nothing except a letter on the table.

“I _knew_ it!” Subira exclaims and then winces, grinding her teeth due to her headache. “He flooded Old Crestwood. He _killed_ them!”

Cassandra gasps and rushes forward to also read the paper. “We must find him. Someone will want to try him, yes?”

“I’ll talk to Cullen about it as soon as we return,” Subira decides.

Looking around the Mayors vacant house, she shrugs. “Let’s stay here until tomorrow. There’s two beds, so at least two of us get to sleep in them.”

Varric volunteers to take night watch, just in case, and Cassandra counters that she’ll switch with him midway through. They agree with a handshake and she prepares for bed. Cole does not sleep and offers the other bed to Solas.

“Does the Inquisitor not want it?” He asks with a furrowed brow.

Cole places a finger to his lips, pointing out the window. Across the way, the moonlight illuminates the Inquisitors figure approaching the house where the children were staying. The elvhen man shakes his head and also prepares to sleep. The spirit takes a place up against the wall, perfectly comfortable.


	48. You Know, You’re Lost Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira spends some quality time with the orphaned children of Crestwood and the group returns to Skyhold. Leliana really does not have any tact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s for you :3 Feel better <3

It’s very early in the night, the two moons high in the sky and barely having made their journey. It takes several hours into the night, but she hunts what she finds to be a reasonable amount of rabbits and returns to the barely lit Crestwood before sitting cross legged outside where her companions sleep and getting to the task of gutting and skinning the rabbits to be cooked in the morning. She returns the bow and quiver - with each arrow perfectly intact, she noted pleasantly - that she... borrowed... for the night to its previous place up against a house.

It’s just an hour or two away from sunrise when she washes her hands off in a large, clear puddle and stuffs the meat into a sheepskin bag.

When she entered the makeshift orphanage, she didn’t expect them to be up, until she heard soft sniffling.

“Is someone there?” One of small voices called out.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m the Inquisitor, and-“

The child jumps out of bed and her voice is a low whisper. _“The Inquisitor!_ You’re here to save us, aren’t you?”

The girl smiles softly. “Yes, I’m going to keep you safe. I decided to come see you all. I didn’t think anyone would be awake, I was gonna wait here until morning.”

The child, suddenly shy, looks down. “I... haven’t been sleeping well. My momma used to read me stories before bed...”

Subira frowns, hazy memories of jasmine and the seashell necklace she wore flashing in her mind. “I understand. Come, let’s get you back into bed, and I’ll tell you my favorite stories.

Yawning, the small girl leads the Inquisitor to her bed, allowing herself to be tucked in. The teenager lays next to the girl and looks up at the ceiling.

“Let me tell you about a pair of best friends. Their names are Rabbit and Fox...”

Even though the girl can’t sleep for another hour, she blinks with large eyes and listens raptly to the Inquisitor’s story. Right before the ending the girl drifts off into sleep, even as she fought it, and Subira smiles softly before relocating next to the door, keeping guard out of habit.

A few more hours passed and the sun is finally rising, peeking through the windows and casting a golden glow across the one-room house. Some kids rise blearily and rub their eyes.

“Who are you?” A boy asks from his bed, drawing the attention of several others, realizing this is not a town member who volunteered to take care of them.

The little girl she sat with last night pops out of bed. “That’s the Inquisitor!”

The children are all awake by this point, either woken by the commotion or nudged awake by someone else. Subira smiles.

“I came to see you all. I have things for you,” she grabs the bag on her back and unloads several smaller bags of food left over from the bandits that she swiped from Caer Bronach. They watch as she opens one bag to reveal small, whole loaves of bread and they gasp.

“There’s enough for you all, too. I made sure I brought enough. There’s jam for the rolls,” she smiles gently without realizing it. “There’s some snack cakes in here, but they are for after. Do you have running water here?”

Someone retrieves water and fills cups, passing them out to the kids. They eat and drink thirstily. Over a small stove fire, she cooks the rabbit meat she hunted while traveling to Crestwood and the game she found last night.

She passes out the meat for them, giving them a good and proper meal. There’s little talk as they fill their hungry bellies.

“If you have clothes you need mended, I will do it for you,” she adds while she’s passing out dessert cakes later. “I can teach some of you to mend, too.”

One boy, about seven, looks up with tears in his eyes. “Thank you so much, Miss Inquisitor!”

The girl grasps one of his hands, whispering now. “Can you all keep a secret?”

They each leaned closer, nodding eagerly. “I’m an orphan, too. But you must keep it between us! Do you swear?”

The kids cross a fist over their heart and promise, smiling at the girl who helped them. “Then let’s get down to business. My name is Anita. Tell me your names while I mend some of your things.”

And so she mended many shirts, pairs of pants or socks, and teddy bears. A few of the older ones elect to learn how to mend simple things and caught on fairly quickly. When the sun rose in the sky, she stood and smiled apologetically, even as the kids protested.

“You must all go back to bed, and I must get started with my day. Perhaps I’ll be able to return later if I have time,” she yawns behind a hand. A raven with green eyes taps on the window, startling her.

Curious, she exits the house and gently unties the message.

> _Chantry Mother informed. Old Crestwood scouted._
> 
> _Bandits taken care of in the Fens and the Flats._
> 
> _No casualties or injuries._
> 
> _C_

Subira walks as fast as possible to the closest place with pen and paper and sends off a reply to Caer Bronach before going towards the stables and brushing Hyundai for over twenty minutes.

She tacks up and then kicks him into a canter, taking off towards Old Crestwood.

“Command?” The girl calls out into the house cautiously. The spirit appears immediately.

“Is it dealt with?” Command asks expectantly.

She smiles kindly. “The demon is sent back to the Fade. You are free to return as well.”

The spirit beams at her. “Thank you, human. But, before I go, may I ask you one question?”

“Yes?”

“You said it must be your mark,” the spirit laughs, glancing at the unusual, but not unfamiliar, magic. “But we are alike, aren’t we?”

The girl, back turned to the spirit, glances at it briefly. “Yes,” she confirms. “We are.”

And then she steps through the Fade and disappears, to the spirits delight. The spirit returns to whence it came without an issue, pleased to have been satisfied.

Subira appears on the other side of Old Crestwood, where she left Hyundai waiting because he refused to enter. He startles, but when he realizes who it is he settles and allows her to mount and make her way back to (New) Crestwood at an extended trot.

The sun still hasn’t come quite over the sky yet, and so she pens another letter for Caer Bronach, asking that someone take care of the wyvern and notify Judith on the outskirts of Old Crestwood.

By noon, the others are rested from their debacle and ready to finish what they must do in the small area - had the Inquisitor not spent the night doing it.

As they’re all yawning, Varric goes, “Kid, where’s the kid?” Blinking, he rubs his head. “Makers hairy - I’ve _gotta_ get better nicknames for you two.”

Cassandra, pulling on her armor, snorts. “That will be the day. Cole, where is she?”

“Where the other lost ones are,” he replies simply, as if that’s a completely typical conversational response.

The Seeker groans. “Cole. _Please.”_

Cole shrugs and stands to leave the house, watching them all expectantly. When they’re ready to go, they follow him curiously where Hyundai stands lazily out front, his bridle hung on a post and he hungrily chomps what pieces of not-drowned grass he can. And then they see Anita.

Anita is sitting in a circle with many small children of various ages surrounding her with a wide smile, free and unrestrained. One clings to her shoulder, hanging over her body, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. Another is curled up in her lap. Her hands are gently braiding flowers into crowns, her companions noting that many of the kids already wear one.

“What happened next?!” One boy with eyes like an icy lake and dark brown hair exclaims to her as they get closer and she smiles softly.

The sleepy girl in her lap goes, “yeah! What happens?”

“I don’t know yet, Laurel,” she admits, gently braiding a flower crown into the boys hair.

The girl hanging over her, a small girl with coffee bean colored eyes and brunette curls, groans, confused. “How don’t you know?”

The Inquisitor sighs, forlorn, but her smile returns fairly quickly. “Because it hasn’t happened yet.”

Another girl, with short brown hair and tan skin, gasps, hands over her eyes. “So the Rabbit and Fox are real?!”

An older girl gently encourages the overexcited girl to sit criss cross and not on her knees. “Thanks, Darcy,” the Inquisitor smiles softly.

She takes a deep breath and reaches out, silently asking permission. Darcy sits to the side, allowing her to braid her long hair.

“Yeah, kid,” she nods, twisting yellow flowers into the long locks. “They’re based on some people I, uh, know.”

A different boy - this time, with bright amber eyes and blonde hair - cocks his head. “Do you think they’ll find each other again? I don’t want them to be alone!”

Anita’s eyes fill with tears, but she finishes the braid in Darcy’s hair and reaches out to run her fingers through his hair gently. “We’ll have to see, won’t we?”

She stands, dusting herself off. The kids protest, but she reminds them that she has to go. She turns to her newly arrived companions, who the kids all seem to be cautious in the presence of.

“Oh good, you’re all awake,” she smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “This morning, I was informed that our scouts came across the... _packages,_ that the Chantry Mother was waiting for and sent word back.”

Cassandra blinks slowly. “You had a busy morning, then.”

“Indeed,” the girl murmurs, faraway in her thoughts. “I rode back to Old Crestwood and informed... our friend of what we did.”

“Alone? _Spitfire,”_ Varric sighs, disappointed.

“I had Hyundai!” She insists. “I was fine, anyway. The only thing left is a lot of bandits, which were easy to avoid. Our scouts dealt with most of them, and the rest we can clean up before leaving for Skyhold today.”

Solas smiles slightly at her enthusiasm. “Easy, da’lan. It will get done.”

“I know. Your mounts are already prepared, just waiting for you,” she adds, shifting her weight onto one hip.

“Today won’t be too much work, then,” Varric groans.

“Not for you, at least,” Cassandra grunts.

Her companions watch her glide towards them, like dust on the wind; fluid and light. But when they turn to go retrieve their mounts, she pivots slightly to wink at the children and then takes off after the others.

“Let’s go close some rifts,” she suggests, nearly immediately regretting it as her hand throbs in response to even the thought of doing that.

Mounting and hightailing it out of Crestwood, they head towards the Blackfens and find bandits struggling with demons from a rift. Anita clutches Hyundai tighter and then dismounts, drawing her bow.

“Let them die, then attack the rift,” she monotones, arrow knocked and a stiff look on her face.

Her companions engage and all absolute chaos breaks loose. Evidently, Subira and Sera have been swapping notes, because she takes risky shots, her arrows tipped in flame or even ice, and her aim has improved. The last demon is felled by Cassandra, and the girl throws her hand up, trying to stifle her scream as the Veil tugs and tugs while it closes.

The tendrils of verdant and ghostly white pulse through her hand and wrist, making gripping the bow difficult. Solas, as he comes closer, does not give her a choice; he reaches out and grabs the offending hand. She tries to pull away, attracting the attention of both Varric and Cassandra, but the mage holds fast.

“You said it _stopped,”_ he hisses, eyes angry in a way she hasn’t ever seen. “Why lie? I am here to help you. I have helped you. Why suffer in silence? Why do this to yourself?”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and then closes his eyes, flowing waves of magic into the mark. Instantly, the growing pains cease.

_“I...”_

Solas is already walking away, using his staff to help chart a way back to his mount.

_Why suffer in silence? Why do this to yourself?_

She is lost in her thoughts for the remainder of their time in Crestwood, floating in some in between space of her mind and the universe itself, watching everything - and herself - go by almost in third person. It’s nearly dark by the time they’ve closed three other rifts - which, is pushing it, considering Solas’ three rift limit, even with the healing he did - and they’re heading back to Skyhold.

Varric’s voice jolts her out of it and back into her body. “Ready to go home, kiddo?”

 _“Home,”_ she murmurs to the trees.

He watches her for a long time with a heavy heart and Hawke’s words in mind, not bothering to remind her that she never responded to his question.

_If she isn’t dead by the end of this, she won’t be the same._

_Not if I have anything to say about it,_ he thinks vehemently. _I won’t let another innocent person be hurt by this shit._

A nagging voice whispers that he may not have a choice, as her unfocused eyes stare down at war-worn hands, too young to have washed so much blood off of them.

* * *

Sleepless nights became the norm for the Inquisitor as they traveled back to Skyhold and did not seem to alleviate when they returned. Deep, dark circles reside under her eyes when they next meet at the War Table, leaning heavily against the oak wood and inspecting the markers intensely. It’s late, as they only arrived an hour earlier, but this is urgent. Her advisors look as rattled as she does.

“Aside from Hawke, obviously Cassandra is coming with for this. Cole, as well. Varric if he wants to,” she murmurs, mostly to herself, running a hand down her face. “Dorian is still in the Approach...”

“They may catch up with you, if you’re lucky,” Cullen comments, entering with a tray of snacks.

The Inquisitor makes an odd face at the food before turning a pleased smile to the Commander.

“Thank you, Cullen. That was sweet of you,” she says idly, inspecting no particular marker.

“It was no big inconvenience, I assure you,” he replies, pouring cups of tea for each of them. She receives hers gracefully.

Josephine frantically writes on her clipboard, looking back and forth between the map and her notes. “I believe we have the go-ahead. There shouldn’t be any issue from crossing the trade routes, but I did get clearance papers just in case...”

Leliana watches curiously as the Inquisitor places the tea cup down and holds her hand over her mouth, eyes closed tightly.

“Inquisitor, are you alright?” she asks anxiously, coming around to her side.

“I’m just fine,” she mumbled around her hand. “Just nausea. Solas says it’s normal. Would you all mind handling this?”

With a chorus of agreements, the Inquisitor, looking quite green, slowly makes her way from the room and to her quarters to rest. Leliana watches her go.

Cullen sighs deeply, taking a drink of tea. “I worry for her.”

“We all do, Commander,” the Spymaster replies, raising her tea to her lips.

“She has not slept in _days,_ Leliana,” he argues against her glib tone. “It’s clear.”

“Cassandra reported that the mark acted... strange, in Crestwood. Perhaps, it is this making her sick,” Josephine reasons in an attempt to soothe ruffled feathers, while quite worried herself.

The Commander huffs. “It is clear she hasn’t been well for awhile. And what have we done about it? _Nothing!”_

She folds her arms defiantly. “What would you ask us to do? We are not her guardians.”

“Leliana!” Josephine scolds, eyes hard. “You know very well we are all she has. We may as well be her guardians.”

“I am not,” she hisses in response, turning her eyes away. “I cannot and will not take on the responsibility for a _broken child-“_

“Anita!” Josephine gasps suddenly, dropping the clipboard on the table and immediately rushing forward. “Oh, no, _no-“_

The Inquisitor, standing in the door for who knows how long, backs away, shaking her head wordlessly.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana tries, reaching for the girl, her mouth dry and heart pounding inexplicably hard.

She forgot that distancing yourself from someone in practice, even for a Spymaster, hurts.

“No need to explain, Seneschal,” the girl chokes out, face contorted and tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes and her lips quivering. “After all, what do you owe to a broken child?”

The Inquisitor takes off down the hallway at a run, sniffles and Josephine’s frantic calls echoing. Doors slamming shut are heard and then... silence.

Josephine walks back in the war room calmly, a storm on her face and hands clenched into fists. “How _dare_ you, Leliana.”

“Josie-“ Leliana tries nervously, coming close to her friend, but the Ambassador pushes her away.

 _“Don’t!”_ She demands angrily. “How could you _say_ something like that?”

Cullen excuses himself, determined to do damage control. He finds the Inquisitor curled up behind a wall in the garden, near their favorite spot to play chess together. The mark sparks brightly in response to her emotions, giving her away in the dark of night.

“Go away, Cullen,” she sniffles. “I’m just the broken kid.”

He kneels by her side, gently brushing hair aside to be able to see her face. “That isn’t true at all, Anita,” he brushes her tears away, carefully helping her sit up and bringing her into his arms, unsure of what to do. She seems to approve, curling into his embrace and he leans against the wall comfortably as he can.

He strokes her hair and shushes her as she cries softly. “Why did she say that about me?” She asks eventually, voice breaking. “Am I really-“

 _“No,”_ he interrupts her fiercely, hugging her tightly. “Leliana is a complicated, stubborn woman. She has been as long as I’ve known her, Anita. It isn’t you. She’s simply afraid.”

Soft sniffles indicate the slowing of tears. “Of _me?”_ She asks curiously, voice small.

Cullen laughs gently. “No, _wildflower,_ she’s afraid of caring. Attachment, if you will.”

The Inquisitor scoffs. “Yeah, well, so am I, and you don’t see me acting like a big _baby_ about it.”

The Commander sighs dramatically. “I never said she was good at handling her problems, now did I?”

Anita giggles under her breath.

“I’m tired,” she murmurs.

He stands with her in his arms protectively, carrying her up to bed. And when he tucked her into bed with the gentlest of smiles on his face, he wonders if this is what fatherhood feels like. He presses a soft kiss on her forehead before extinguishing the candles in her room and exiting quietly.


	49. Saying Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold is in mild turmoil before the march to Adamant. Subira bottles up her emotions.

They left over a week ago to go to the Approach with Hawke - absolutely driving Cass insane, she found, but it was... _good,_ surprisingly.

And then they met up with Sidona and Stroud to find yet another Magister _way_ too far South for her liking.

As they all do, he begins their introduction with monologuing his exact plans and why he’s a genius. “And now, the Wardens will perform the ritual to save their corrupt little order,” he mocks.

Sidona growls. “Clarel _allowed_ this? I’m going to _wring_ her skinny little neck!”

“Oh, she was quite hung up on it, actually, Erimond pouts. “But after long nights of deliberation, she realized my way was the best option. To save the Wardens, a sacrifice must be made.”

“Demons? I knew they were coming in eventually,” Subira sneers, standing tall.

The harsh desert sun beats down on them and the unforgiving winds blow the sand this way and that, but her glare is unwavering. The Magister, Erimond, seems uncomfortable in his position.

“You are no Warden,” Stroud snaps, and Sidona seems to physically bite back her sarcastic remark.

“You Magister’s are all the same,” she drawls icily, with frost crawling up her arms and the surrounding area. “You think you have all the power here. But oh, dear,” Sidona grins widely to reveal another trait of the People, her sharp incisors, “you have _never_ dealt with the likes of me. _And you will not live to tell the tale.”_

Pale and visibly nervous by the power radiating off of the angry mage Warden, he backs up, ordering multiple other Warden’s to take up space in front of him. “Clarel’s orders were clear,” he affronts stuffily. “The Order must be saved! They’re trying to sabotage you!”

“He’s _lying_ to you, you stupid fucking shems!” Sidona yells, slamming her staff into the ground. Bright sparks erupt into the sky and one of the enslaved demons dies with a shriek and the scent of burning flesh.

“So, what? Corypheus used the Warden’s to escape and now he’s going to send them all to their deaths?” Subira demands angrily, fists clenched around her daggers and practically humming with unreleased energy, dodging a demon and wincing at the loud, ear piercing shriek it releases when she kills it.

“He manipulated the Warden’s to make a demon army for Corypheus, more like,” Sidona sneers.

“Ah, yes, the Inquisitor,” Erimond flicks his gaze over her dismissively. “My Master taught me how to deal with you.”

And then the worst blinding pain she’s ever been in is reaching into her hand and up her arm, pulling and pulling as if it’s attempting to unhinge her bones from their sockets. She hears Sidona’s encouraging voice in her ear and feels Solas’ magic trying to help and with a rush of adrenaline and an animalistic screech, she blasts the mark’s energy back at Erimond.

The Magister goes sprawling, his entire body shaking and barely able to stand. Several Wardens go to his aid immediately.

Her body feels light and weak, her head is pounding but she can’t stop right now. Erimond orders his demon minions to attack and flees in the chaos that erupts.

“Wardens, this is an _order_ from Commander Andras! _**Stand down!”**_ Sidona barks as she twirls through the battlefield, relentless on her own soldiers who cannot seem to outwit her. Any non-demon soldier is knocked out and they collapse to the ground.

“I think they’re beyond reason, Andras!” Stroud yells, covering her blind side and dispersing of a demon.

Subira kneels on the ground in the middle of it all, hazy and in pain. Her body flashes between the real world and the Fade, unable to tell the difference and her eyes squeezed shut. The battle is over, she thinks, Stroud and Sidona are tying up the remaining Wardens, but she can’t focus.

Under the hot sun and vaguely recognizing that she’s being carried against metal, the mark completely overloads and the last thing she remembers is _green._

* * *

When she awakens, she knows exactly where she is. Her panic is immediate, despite feeling the harsh granules of sand sticking to the soles of her feet and the palms of her hands and realizing they must still be in the Approach, she struggles. The dark of the cellar and the musty smell that just barely resides in her memories incites a raw panic.

The darkness surrounding her is not a comfort for once, practically glued to her eyes and she helplessly paws around for something, anything, solid to hang onto.

 _Come to me,_ Cole’s voice calls.

 _Cole!_ She thinks desperately. _Please!_

A gentle, white light begins to glow ahead and she, as fast as possible with legs feeling like molasses, crawls towards it, barreling into Cole’s arms. Despite not being used to physical affection, he hugs her back hesitantly.

The sound of mocking laughter follows them as she wakes up with a start. They’re in a camp nearby the ritual tower, mostly everyone asleep and the fire just glowing embers now.

“Dorian?” She asks in confusion.

He smiles brightly. “We met up with your party. Bull and the Chargers continued on to Skyhold, but Vivienne and I stayed. _Surprise,_ darling!”

In an overwhelming rush of emotion she practically jumps into Dorian’s arms for a hug. He makes a startled noise, but quickly hugs her back.

 _“Yes,_ yes, I missed you too,” he jokes “perhaps I should leave more often, hm?”

She doesn’t reply, thinking too hard about her dream and the events of the previous day.

Dorian continues, “the mage, Sidona, and her warrior friend went ahead to scout out a fortress. A plan of attack must be made when we return to Skyhold.”

Nodding absently, she chews on her lip. “We’re really in a war, huh?”

He exhales deeply. “Yes, little Magister,” he murmurs, running his fingers through her tangled and sweaty hair. “We are.”

* * *

Two weeks ago, they returned to Skyhold. Preparations have been ongoing since then. Unfortunately, the weather is relentless and cold, thunder cracking frequently, making it miserable and quiet. The electrical current in the air is almost physical, the humidity thick in the air as the day to march towards Adamant grows closer. The people of Skyhold stay inside with the windows closed and the animals locked up tight.

The rain beats against Skyhold in harsh sheets, wind slamming against the trees and any panels it can. Though vicious, Skyhold is in no danger due to dwarven stonework and the already magnificent, ancient multi-cultural architecture of the keep.

The tavern is lit up bright against the foggy dark like a beacon of light, many taking refuge there for several hours until the storm dies down and allows them to move through the pathways with better visibility.

The Inquisitor holes up in her tower, the doors shut tight and pacing back and forth with many candles lit. No one has come in or out save for Dalish, who brings up food for the girl. She didn’t say much, looking worried and haunted as the days passed closer and closer. In particular, this day seems to be harder for her.

But she finalizes reports, drinks mulled - in her case, very, _very_ mulled - wine with Dalish as they eat and she approves troop movements, blinking tiredly the whole way. The mark sparks idly in her hand and she clenches it tightly in her lap, determined to ignore it.

_Meanwhile, her companions gather in the Herald’s Rest..._

“You know, Ruffles, you never explained how you covered up the whole _‘the Inquisitor has no ties to anyone’_ issue,” Varric remarks thoughtfully around their full, odd table of Wicked Grace.

The Inquisitor herself declined to attend the night’s game, citing that she wanted to prepare for tomorrow night’s send-off dinner, although Ambassador Montilyet is supposed to go up to check on her later.

Dorian sighs thoughtfully, twirling his mustache. “You know, I hadn’t thought of that. But you’d think that’s something the nobility would make a fuss about, wouldn’t you?”

Leliana smirks and leans closer, her voice becoming a conspiratorial whisper. “Josie here has a dashing friend in the Trevelyan family - minor Free Marcher Nobility, the Bannorn Of Ostwick. Her contact was able to convince Bann Trevelyan to allow us to claim the Inquisitor is a far distant cousin. It gave us some sway in the Marcher states that were unsure of us.”

Varric smiles slyly as he absently shuffles cards in his hands, peering at Josephine with one eyebrow raised. “A Free Marcher Noble, Ruffles?”

Josephine huffs, a light blush appearing on her cheeks and she ducks her head girlishly. “I met Myranna many, _many_ years ago at one of her Aunt Lucille’s famous summer bazaars.”

Everyone around the table had entertained the idea that they weren’t, in fact, listening, for Josephine’s sake, and instead stared at their cards innocently, but when she stopped talking they each lent an ear closer expectantly.

 _“Really,_ you all,” she mutters, lifting her head with an indignant huff. “Alright, alright! Trevelyan was... well, we courted as teenagers, I suppose,” Josephine’s blush is even deeper now and she takes a large sip of her wine before continuing, “But we’re _just_ friends. As I know it, she lost her brother in the Conclave and was... _ahem,_ required at home. She would be here if she could, she said.”

Across the table, Cassandra clutches the tablecloth in one hand. Bull is the first to notice, nudging Dorian with his arm before going, “Seeker? You in there, Boss?”

The woman jerks out of her thousand yard stare and almost drops her mug of ale, righting the cup at the last second and setting it back on the table.

Cassandra looks deeply unsettled by the topic, shifting uncomfortably. “Yes, Bull, _um...”_

Leliana answers for the other woman easily as she stands to meet a hooded agent, “I believe what Cassandra means to say is that she knew the Trevelyan siblings as children. Though, it had been sometime since you saw them, no?”

Cassandra scoffs dismissively, looking away. All eyes are trained on her now and she almost growls at their expectant stares. “Do you truly require more? We were childhood friends. We are not now. End of story.”

Josephine frowns slightly, a divot in her brows. When she speaks, she sounds a bit hurt. “She never told me about you.”

Hot blood rushes through her cheeks and Cassandra clears her throat, rushing to assure the Ambassador. “I... We did not part on friendly terms, Josephine. Ambassador. I apologize,” she stammers.

Bewildered, Josephine handles it the only way a diplomat knows how and nods, waving it off with a smile. “No matter. Who is dealing the next round?”

Cullen groans, shaking his head. _“‘The next round’?_ I have paperwork that needs to get done...”

“Paperwork that I just handled, Commander,” Leliana says teasingly from behind the Commander, a few of the aforementioned papers in her hand.

Agent Lace Harding is departing at a brisk pace behind her, with a bag made of thick hide under one arm, presumably containing orders - and water droplets dripping profusely from her braid and hood.

He turns and with wide eyes he tries to jerk the papers out of her grip, but she dances away. “No, no,” she laughs. “You’ll have to try harder than that!”

Cullen grumbles to himself and simply turns back in his chair and seats himself properly, yelping when Leliana drops the papers in front of him and then huffing.

“Give Curly a break, Nightingale,” Varric wheezes, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“Ah, but Varric, if I don’t harass our dear Commander, who will?” Leliana teases, taking her seat again and sipping her wine, noting pleasantly that her wine is a bit sweeter, with a flowery note that only a summer honey from Orlais can provide. _Odd._

“Sera and Little Boss, no doubt,” Bull rumbles easily across the table, reaching underneath and pulling up a dazed elf.

 _“Whazzat?”_ Sera yawns, smacking her lips together.

“Sera, do you want to play?” Bull asks.

The elf licks her lips, rubs her eyes, and then turns to the table fully, squinting.

“Deal me back in,” she yawns widely, Josephine far too used to her to scold her for manners when only among friends. “Basically asleep down there, I was! How many rounds did ya play without me?”

Dorian snorts. “This is our second. You were plastered far before we began playing, if you remember.”

Sera grins lazily. “Hell yeah, I do. Wait, where’s the kid?”

Bull shakes his head, but Dorian answers. “The Inquisitor isn’t joining us tonight, I’m afraid.”

“She’s been pacing at night - not sleeping. I’m not surprised she doesn’t want to come tonight,” Bull snorts, taking a long sip of ale.

Sera nods with a frown, even as she accepts her cards and places silvers into the betting pool.

“I was hoping that one of these lot would get her to socialize a bit,” Sera whispers to Bull, motioning to _Cassandra, Josephine and Leliana_ with her head. “She’s clamping up tight lately. Somethings got her all twisted up.”

Bull nods, a grim line set into his mouth. “Yeah. Dalish has been going up there a lot, Jenny, don’t worry. Don’t know what she does, but seems to help the kid.”

Dorian sighs, messing with the hem of his robe. “I’m sure we can check on her should we need to,” he suggests a tad loudly, the result of just a few too many cups of wine.

“Check on _who?”_ Cassandra demands nosily.

“Just the Inquisitor, Boss,” Bull peers at her over his cards briefly.

The woman shakes her head with her distinct scowl now in place. “She needs to come down from that tower. Skipping her training, running off in the middle of the night?”

Cullen sighs deeply. “She needs your _support,_ Seeker, not your criticism, even I know that.” He looks between his cards and the pile of coin before adding two more silver.

Cassandra groans and leans her head on her arms. “I am not good at matters of the heart! I support her the best I can-“

Across the table, observing the wall with a cup of tea in his hands and lending an ear to the conversation, Solas smirks. “By shield-bashing her into the training grounds, Seeker?”

Blackwall laughs heartily, taking a large gulp of ale and placing his mug back on the table. “It’s true, Seeker, you aren’t known for your talent with words.”

“That’s my job, Hero!” Varric calls from across the table.

Josephine frowns. “Speaking of, I’ve meant to bring this up for a bit now...”

She bites her lip, leaning back and placing her cards face down on the table. “Have you noticed... Do you think that she doesn’t feel as if we care for her?”

The chatter at the table slows to a stop as they each individually processes what she said.

Leliana leaned back in her chair with a frown. “Elaborate on that, Josie,”

“I said what I _said,_ Leliana,” Josephine replies in agitation, side-eying the other woman.

“Right, for the smart people, you lot are all a bunch of idiots sometimes,” Sera interrupts, placing her cards down too. Others around the table follow suit.

“Hey!” Dorian barks immediately in offense. “Mock the rest of them if you must, but I’m not even _from_ the South-“

“Oh, quiet Tevinter!” Sera blows a dismissive raspberry at him. “Listen, what do we know about the kid?”

 _“... nothing?”_ Cullen replies tentatively. Sera guffaws and Bull rolls his eyes.

“What? We don’t know anything about her, not really,” Cullen rubs the back of his neck with one hand, trying not to blush under the scrutiny.

“Sure you do, if you know where to look. She tells us lots about herself, even if she don’t talk too much,” Sera proposes confidently, leaning on one elbow. Many around the table go red, including Josephine. “Always looking, she is. Real nervous, right? My guess? She was some sort of an agent - some places snatch orphans up when they’re kids and train them real intense. Real nasty types,” the elf shudders and sticks her tongue out.

It’s clear the words hit their Spymaster with a frightening clarity, as her face is drawn into a more notable frown. Sera pushes on. “Whattya think they taught her, Red?”

Leliana looks down at the table. Her answer is very quiet. “She is not to be seen or heard.”

Bull nods knowingly, leaning back in his seat with his arms folded over his chest. “Exactly,” he rumbles softly. “The kid doesn’t know how to get to know us. Likely hasn’t had any adult to trust.”

“But - She can trust us! It’s been at least seven or eight months since-” Cassandra protests, but it sounded weak even to her ears.

“Seeker, if a hound is hit enough times, sooner or later it will learn to fear any hand that approaches. It has been her entire life - eight months of relative kindness will not erase that,” Solas replies wisely.

It’s quiet as the various companions of the Inquisitor re-settle: drink refills, food, and stretching.

“Where’s Hawke tonight, Varric?” Blackwall asks conversationally, taking a bite of bread.

Varric waves a hand. “Writing letters, I think. Said she needed some time to herself.”

A few more minutes of silent gameplay ensues. The silence is broken when Cole’s presence is pointed out.

“Cole, I did not notice you, my friend,” Solas’ eyebrows raise in slight surprise, but he peers calmly at the spirit sitting right next to him.

“I know,” the spirit replies kindly to Solas’ curious noise.

Solas’ thoughts were full of unknowns and turns. Cole tried to stay out of there - _especially_ lately.

Josephine tilts her head. “You didn’t want us to notice you?”

Cole turns his attention to her. “No, I just didn’t want to be a bother. The _In..._ _Anita..._ did not want to be disturbed,” he murmurs with a soft expression, before perking up. “But Varric invited me! I waited, and now you’ve seen me.”

Varric frowns a bit. “What could she be doing up there that keeps her from-“

Cole’s eyes close and he dips his head. _“Aching wrist and ink stained finger tips hurry along a bending quill. The parchment piles up, up, like a mountain of doubt.”_

Varric blinks. “She’s writing? I’ll be damned. Her and Hawke do too much thinking.”

Bull gives him a firm stare. “Let her have her privacy, Varric.”

Cole’s frown becomes less harsh and more melancholic. Varric sighs and pats the spirit on the back. “C’mon, kid. You wanna play?”

He looks up and and his smile is full of uncertainty. “Yes?”

Josephine clears her throat, determined to make the tension settle. “Ser Tethras, would you deal Master Cole in for us? And Cole? Next time, just tell us you’re there!”

Cole smiles a little bit more. “Thank you, Kind Lady. Oh, wait. Lady Josephine.”

Varric coughs with laughter, placing a hand on his mouth to hide his wide smile. “Is that how you refer to her in your head, Cole?”

He pulls the brim of his hat over his face, now rapidly becoming pink. “I - _um_ \- she is kind!”

Josephine laughs and reaches over to pull Cole’s hands from his hat, patting them gently. “It’s alright, Cole,” she smiles and leans back to pick up her cards.

The spirit smiles back. “Alright,” he agrees. “Now, wait, why is this one holding a sword? He doesn’t want the sword...”

They play long into the night, trading laughs and jokes and pretending that they aren’t the leaders of a large military organization, tasked with fixing the world. When the dawn hours rolled around, Lady Josephine knocks softly on the tower doors in case the Inquisitor is awake and receives no response, presuming her asleep for once. In the end, she retires to her room with a yawn into the back of her hand, hoping that Anita is sleeping well.

If Lady Josephine had opened the door and looked inside, she would’ve found the Inquisitor was not in her room sleeping the hours away. Or, if she had tried the door, she would’ve found it locked - a rare occurrence, considering how many people tend to invade the Inquisitor’s privacy on a daily basis, but especially if she was supposed to be in the room.

If anyone had been able to think through the several glasses of alcohol they each had and the lack of sleep they were all working with, they would’ve realized that Cole was with them.

Cole was with them and not by her bedside, holding her hand as he normally does, or, singing an Orlesian lullaby as he has as of late, quelling her frightened tears. But she was not sleeping in a maze, and Cole was not waking her up gently or helping her off to sleep when the tears of frustration and sadness overwhelmed her.

Because she and Dalish had bribed one of the guards with his favorite rolls and made their way into the stables early in the windy night, long after the rain had subsided but left mostly everything wet and damp, a misty fog descending upon the pass.

“Kid, I wanted to ask you about something...” Dalish says when they’re far in the trees, the chilly air creating near-permanent goose bumps on them both.

“Go for it, Dalish,” she replies, laying back on Hyundai and watching the sky.

Casually, the elf leans against a rock wall and says, “You and Solas left the other night, right?”

Subira’s blood runs cold.

Magic flares up at Dalish’s finger tips. “I know you know I’m a mage,” she says easily, blue and purple sparks traveling over her knuckles. “I think you have quite the secret, no?”

Panic flares up in Subira, not moving from her spot. “How?”

“Aside from noticing your habit of training under Solas? You study too much,” Dalish shrugs behind her, beginning to tick off how she figured it out on her fingers. “I wanted to do some research of my own. You brew specific potions... but only in private, which was a no brainer.”

“You can’t tell anyone, Dalish,” Subira pleads, turning to face her. “You can’t.”

The mercenary raises an eyebrow. “Why? It’s pretty common knowledge I am a mage in plain sight, but no one-”

The girl lowers her head, voice low. “Dalish, you don’t get it. My actions could get many people hurt if it’s found out that I am a mage. Until I find out and bury it, no one can know.”

Dalish blinks. “Kid, what did you do?”

The girl shakes her head. “I told you Dalish. I don’t know. That’s why I need you to keep quiet. Please, Dalish. I’ve been doing this my whole life.”

After a few silent moments and with probing eyes inspecting her, the woman nods. “Alright, kiddo. Chargers honor.”

Relieved, Subira nods with a small smile. “Chargers honor,” she repeats.

“Do you want to keep going?” Dalish asks after a few minutes.

Subira considers it. “Yeah, sure," and she nudges Hyundai forward lazily.

Sometimes in silence and sometimes trading bits of useful information, the two travel for miles together in the dark of night. Somehow, Subira feels a bit less alone. Those in the Keep feel a bit more secure, thinking their precious Inquisitor is bundled up in her safe, secluded tower...

The thought just makes her angry and she continues to lay there watching the stars disappear. But the guard they bribed comes to find them, informing them that their time is up and if they’re gone any longer they’ll be missed.

Within the hour, Subira was back in her room and in a warm bath, soaking up the way it feels like a hug. She could never afford to take warm baths before, so these always feel like a luxury to her. When it’s done, she smells faintly like lemon and lavender, her hair dabbed with rose oil.

She curls up in the too-big, lonely bed with a warm blanket that Josephine gave her just a few days ago, snuggling closely into it and closing her eyes, just... for a few minutes...

_“Anita! My dear, wake up!”_

Her eyes crack open slowly, wincing at the sunlight coating her room like a blanket. _No rest for the wicked,_ she supposes.

“I’m awake!” Subira yells back, yawning so hard her jaw cracks uncomfortably.

Moments later, there’s two knocks on her door.

 _“May I come in?”_ Josephine’s voice comes through, not quite a question but not wishing to take away the girls autonomy.

“Sure,” she agrees, tiredly sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

The door opens and behind Josephine, multiple assistants follow, bringing in outfits and following them, a Seamstress. At the end of the makeshift concession is Vivienne, impeccable despite the early hour.

“Up, Up, my dear,” Vivienne coos, striding into the room as she does every room - as if she owns it. “We must prepare. We have important people coming tonight, and we must not disappoint them, yes?”

Subira groans, flopping back onto the bed. “Why can’t I just wear one of my other formal outfits? They’re just some nobles.”

Josephine tuts from where she inspects one of the outfits. “Not just any nobles, my dear,” she hands a strip of cloth to Vivienne, who tilts her head and then drapes it over the mannequins shoulder. “The nobles supporting our campaign for Adamant Fortress that I’ll remind you, we leave for in just two days.”

The teenager groans again, pushing a pillow over her face. “Yeah, I remember, no need to remind me,” her voice is muffled because of the pillow.

Footsteps approach the bed and then the pillow is lifted off of her face, revealing Vivienne leaning over her with an unamused expression. Josephine stands on the other side with her hands on her hips and a fond, but stressed, gleam in her eyes.

Even her most powerful pout isn’t going to get her out of this, so the girl slithers out of bed and grabs the under-slip to change into for tailoring, slipping behind the divider.

“What color scheme are we thinking?” Vivienne asks idly, looking at the three options. “I don’t know about this one on the left. Pink isn’t something she wears often, and definitely not before a military campaign...”

Josephine nods, considering that. “I thought so, as well. But what about the purple dress suit? It’s classy, displays strength...”

Vivienne hums. “It is a charming choice, and it would look wonderful on her with a white undershirt and flared cuffs...”

The girl steps out from behind the divider uncomfortably, as she always is when she has to wear the slip for tailoring. “Alright, one doll, ready to go,” she jokes blandly.

The Seamstress, used to her by now, taps her gently with some fabric. “Now, now, my dear, none of that,” she admonishes with a fond eye-roll. “You know they mustn’t know you don’t like them.”

Subira snorts as the Seamstress begins quickly rechecking her measurements. “I’m pretty sure they know I don’t.”

The woman doesn’t laugh, but her eyes shine with mirth. “Well, you have to pretend.”

The girl murmurs something in response, but it’s unintelligible.

Hours later and only being poked with the needle once - her Seamstress has incredibly steady hands, fortunately, and she’s good at standing still - and the outfit is perfectly tailored to her.

A deep, royal purple dress coat with many, many buttons - most of them decorative, but the ones that are not are buttoned down the front - and with flared coat tails at the end of her lower back and folded cuffs around her wrists. There’s golden cuff links holding them in place and a flared white shirt underneath, sticking out neatly. There’s golden accents on the collar of her white shirt and the dress coat, as well as along the arms. Her boots are simple, deep black and rise to her knees, with white breeches underneath.

After they had decided on the outfit in its entirety, everything else was removed from her room and she was instructed - ordered - to bathe, so that she may get dressed.

Josephine braids her now damp hair while Vivienne tweaks her outfit by pulling out a wrinkle or a fold there, fussing over the girl without overwhelming her.

“You look wonderful, my dear,” Vivienne smiles gently.

Subira blushes and almost ducks her head until Josephine murmurs for her to keep her head still. “Thank you,” she replies quietly, still not used to positive reinforcement.

“All done, Tesoro,” Josephine beams, pressing a kiss to the girls head before standing. “We’ll leave you for a bit. But you must be down in the Main Hall before they begin arriving so you can greet them.”

Subira nods, already relieved to be left alone. “Thank you for everything,” she murmurs softly.

The two women exchange a gentle glance. “Don’t even worry about it,” the Ambassador says brightly. “Remember when you need to come down!”

They depart after that, leaving Subira in her stuffy, stiff outfit and alone. She could work on paperwork, or...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations -  
> tesoro - dear, sweetheart


	50. Inquisition Archives [#1]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira writes multiple letters... just in case. Archivists of the second Inquisition recovered and have copies of some of these letters, not lost to time. Exact dates are unknown, but it is implied they were written before the Battle of Adamant Fortress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics and strike-through means that Subira crossed it out. Just strike-through means it was done by water-damage or time.

**[Below are multiple copies of letters to non-members of the Inquisition from the Inquisitor, recovered by archivists.]**

> Castelleta,
> 
> If you receive this letter, it’s because I...
> 
> _~~Didn’t make it out of Adamant.~~ _
> 
> ~~_Because something bad happened._ ~~
> 
> I think something bad is about to happen. And so, if you show up and receive this, I... I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you, all of you. This letter is an explanation of where I’ve been...

**[The body of the text is cut out, presumably because the Inquisitor did so. Research and context implies this is not the final version of the letter.]**

> ... And that’s it. I’m sorry. I know it’s a bad excuse, but what was I supposed to do?
> 
> ~~_I love you always,_ ~~
> 
> Subira.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

> Michalis,
> 
> Hey, kid. It’s been awhile, huh? I miss you. I miss all of you a lot. I wish, in the event you actually receive this letter, that I had been able to see you all before... this.
> 
> I don’t know how else to say I’m sorry. I never was good at apologies.
> 
> S.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

> Herah,
> 
> Keep them together, will you? You’re our glue. ~~ _I love you guys so much_ ~~\- but you’re the one who reminds us what we have to lose. So, make sure you do that.
> 
> ~~_I’m sorry I didn’t do better_ ~~
> 
> I know I wasn’t there. I...
> 
> Be safe.
> 
> S.

* * *

**[Following these are several duplicate texts of letters dated around the same time to important members of the Inquisition from the Inquisitor.]**

> Josephine,
> 
> I’m sorry. You’re so kind and you didn’t even know who I was.
> 
> With all my ~~_love,_~~ affection,
> 
> S.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

> Leliana,
> 
> Well, if I’m dead, then you know everything. Funny how not even I know, right?
> 
> _~~I’m tired, Leli.~~ _
> 
> I’m sorry I was disappointing.
> 
> S.

* * *

**[This letter, not a duplicate, is scorched and torn. Some words are unreadable. Difficult to discern the original state of the letter, but it’s implied it‘s not as it was.]**  

> ~~_Solas,_~~ **LIAR**
> 
> Thank you for ~~bei~~ ng a wonderful teacher and ~~friend~~. You have t ~~aught~~ me much. If I am to fall in ba ~~ttle,~~ ~~_I’m proud to have you by my side, fen’bae._~~
> 
> S.

* * *

**[There are various other copied letters, aged and worn by time, addressed to many members or temporary members of the Inquisition, list not in order: Varric Tethras, the Iron Bull, Enchanter Vivienne de Fer, Red Jenny Sera, Spymaster Lace Harding, the Chargers, Commander Cullen Rutherford, Magister Dorian Pavus, Thom Rainer.]**

_There are two legible letters out of them, not worn by water damage or time._

**[Letter addressed to Lady Seeker Cassandra, around the date of the siege of Adamant Fortress, 9:41 Dragon.]**

> Cass,
> 
> ~~_Ivoro’mae... that fits you. I wrote it because I’m scared to die. I never thought I would be.  
>  _ ~~
> 
> Stupid, right? Sixteen and I dance with death. But I’m scared I’m going to fall at Adamant. ~~_For once I have people who..._~~
> 
> Thanks, Cass.
> 
> I’m sorry I wasn’t what you guys wanted to fall out of the Fade.
> 
> _~~I love you, ivoro’mae.~~ _
> 
> **Let mine be the last sacrifice.**
> 
> S.

* * *

**[The last letter is written to former Warden Fiona and former Grand Enchanter, leader of the Rebel Mages of the Inquisition.]**  

> Grand Enchanter,
> 
> I can’t get out of the habit of calling you that. You tried so hard, too.
> 
> _~~I’m sorry I failed~~ _
> 
> _~~I don’t know what I did~~ _
> 
> _~~I wish there was another way~~ _
> 
> _~~I’m afraid to die~~ _
> 
> _~~Please don’t let me go~~ _
> 
> Thanks for seeing potential in an orphan who was sent to kill you.
> 
> _~~I love you, m~~ _
> 
> I’m sorry.
> 
> ~~_S_ ~~
> 
> Your sunflower.

**[The letters end here.]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iovoro'mae - mother bear in elvhen.  
> fen'bae - papa bear in elvhen.


	51. All These Expectations, Please.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition has a send-off dinner before Adamant. Subira is about to be faced with a blast from the past.

No one is happy with her right now. She left without a trace for days, she has continuously lied about her past, and she pushes them further and further away.

But, you’re probably wondering how she got in this situation, right? I mean, these people have been endlessly patient with our beloved, if not tragically flawed, protagonist. So sit, sit! Come and join us, and try to picture it.

It all started early in the evening at Skyhold. Mostly everyone was in the Main Hall for a party that Josephine threw for some noble to celebrate the Adamant campaign - but in all honesty, she still wasn’t sure which one it was - and she was already annoyed.

This ignorant noble prick insulted Bull’s intelligence and Dorian’s integrity in one breath and brought her blood instantly to a boil. Josephine, seeming to notice how the hair on her arms was sticking up like an angry street cat, drew the man into a conversation about manners - almost like a scolding mother, and he flushed a bright red to everyone’s surrounding laughter.

“Inquisitor, are you prepared for the siege?” One noble woman asks kindly, a different change to the normal disgust they treat her with.

With false confidence in herself, she redirects the question with a tiny smile. “With Commander Rutherford at the head of my troops, Sister Leliana at the head of Skyhold as my Seneschal and Ambassador Montilyet with her diplomatic skills, I am assured that this will be a successful campaign for Adamant. I could not ask for better advisors. Truly.”

Blinking, the woman quickly clears the shock she clearly felt and raises her glass. “To the Inquisition,” she says loudly, with a wide grin rare for nobility. “And to their success at Adamant in a months time. And, if your success is accredited to them, then I suppose, a toast to the Advisory Council of the Inquisition!”

“It is,” the girl insists. “Honestly, I’m young,” she smiles bashfully. “I don’t even know if I’d be half as far without them.”

Disbelief and shock spreads through most of her companions faces. “That’s certainly not true,” Ambassador Montilyet begins with a blush, “though she is generous with her compliments, Inquisitor Trevelyan could-“

“Please, Ambassador, you’re too kind,” the Inquisitor interrupts firmly. “I wouldn’t want to take credit for your work.”

“Our Lady Inquisitor is modest,” Hawke pipes up from the other side, face-swipe gone and moderately cleaned up. Her roguish grin is firmly in place, however, as usual. “For sure, the Inquisition works with the help of all three of the Commanding Officers,” she vaguely makes a gesture to each of them, “but the Inquisitor ties it all together.”

She blushed under the scrutiny she’s now under, many eyes inspecting her approvingly and some curiously, most apprehensively. “Why, thank you, Lady Amell,” she replies eventually, raising her glass to the woman and taking a sip of her drink.

Hawke winks, moving on to talk to someone next to her, and conversation returns to normal. During the first course, Subira begins to get the feeling that something is off.

A working girl who she hadn’t seen before was staring at her strangely tonight. It was distracting her in the “people normally don’t stare like that unless they plan to assassinate you” way, but was also intriguing. Something about her was vaguely familiar. She couldn’t place it, and yet...

An hour or two into the grueling affair, the worker’s skirts brush her thigh as she collects a plate, startling her. Minutes later, a napkin seems to slip right out of her hand and onto the arm of Subira’s chair. And then the girl leans down to apologize, right by her ear. The words that are spoken steal her breath quite literally from her chest:

“Follow me.”

The soft-spoken Orlesian is gone before she really processes what she said, but when she does she looks down and gapes.

_Castelleta! She’s here!_

For several hours, she pokes at her plate, squirms in an undignified manner in her seat and gets scolded by, including but not limited to; Josephine, Vivienne, and Leliana, in that order: Josephine, for slumping in her seat and being distracted, Vivienne, for not eating something with a fork, and Leliana, for mimicking both Josephine and Vivienne in a childish manner.

And then the girl is walking out of the main hall with something bundled in her hands. Subira tracks her with her eyes as she goes, still as a statue.

Subira does not notice the slight narrowing of her Seneschal’s eyes.

Far into the end of the night, she excuses herself to her room.

“If you’ll excuse me, I believe it’s time to call it a night,” she fakes a large yawn behind her hand.

In her hurry, she doesn’t notice the fluid shadow in her wake and the worried eyes following her.

Her feet clicking against the stone with how fast she travels across the hall to the door to her chambers, she takes the stairs two at a time. Locking the door behind her, she paces while the fire grows behind her.

Planning her escape, she carefully scales the walls and roofs of Skyhold and lowers herself into the garden.

And to her surprise, there sits the Grand Enchanter, calmly indicating a door in front of her.

Taking a deep breath, she rushes to the door and then pauses. But then the door is yanked open and someone pulls her inside. She tries to squeal but finds that her mouth is closed of her own volition and that her body isn’t responding quite right at the moment.

_Because standing in front of her is Castelleta._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the cliffhanger :3 you’ll appreciate it when I’m finally done with the fine-tuning stages for the next milestone.


	52. When I Drive Everyone Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira and Castelleta meet again and go head to head in a surprising way. Cassandra struggles with small revelations.

The perpetually knotty, wavy auburn strands are pulled back into a bun that was clearly tame at some point, but over time the hair broke out - even that part of her demanding freedom. Everything about her screams wild, from the flushed cheeks and eyes full of fire to her impatient nature.

 _“Su!”_ Castelleta whispers harshly, looking her up and down. “By Andraste’s tit... You look... What happened?!”

The girl shakes her head. “It’s not important right now. Trust me, a lot of other things happened. But speaking of, what happened to you? Where did you go?!”

The Orlesian girl frowns, tugging on the gold cufflinks and folded collar. “Su, you went missing after the Conclave. We thought you were _dead._ I thought you were dead. We’ve been on the run, on the outskirts because of the Mage-Templar War and without you, we no longer had a solid part in it. Fiona lost contact. But then it just... stopped. And the Inquisition was everywhere.”

Subira’s eyes fill with tears and her mouth must wobble, because Castelleta frowns.

The shorter girl puts a hand over her mouth, shaking her head. “I apologize, my friend - _Cas,”_ she seems to correct herself last minute, blinking at the almost robotic labeling of her best friend. “I am just... emotional.”

Castelleta grabs Subira and pulls her in for a fierce hug, with her arms around her neck and Subira’s arms finding her waist. Cas buries her face into the other girl’s hair, happy to be near her again. They’re best friends and two halves to a whole.

“Michalis’ information was right, then. I owe him a snack,” Cas murmurs, still a bit dazed that she found her after so long of looking - and it turned out that, had she paid a bit more attention to the Inquisition instead of moving out of their way, that she would find her at the center of it all.

Subira grins from her place at her friend’s shoulder. “I’ll get you a thousand snacks if you want.”

Castelleta frowns, but doesn’t comment. “So... What is this? I heard them call you Inquisitor? Since when do they pay attention to kids like us? And the outfit?”

The girl rubs the back of her neck. “Maybe?”

Castelleta rests her forehead on Su’s head and says tiredly into her hair, “want to explain?”

Subira shifts uncomfortably in her friend's arms. “It’s not a pretty story, Cass.”

Cas nods against her, gently rubbing her friends back. “I know. It never has been. But that hasn’t stopped me before, has it?”

Subira hesitates, and then pulls back, eyes downcast. Hand shaking, she pulls her left glove off and offers it to her friend, fingers curled slightly.

 _“Merde!_ Sweet Andraste, what happened?!” Cas whisper-shouts, taking the marked hand in hers immediately. Despite the warmth coming off the hand, she doesn’t pull away and rubs gentle circles over her palm with her thumb.

Her friend sighs, relaxing slightly. “No one knows. But I woke up after the Conclave with it on my hand - and I joined the Inquisition. I guess because of this, they wanted me to be Inquisitor.”

Castelleta takes a good look at her best friend and laughs wetly, pulling her back in for a tight hug, tears escaping when she closes her eyes.

“Maker, Su,” she whispers hoarsely, her lips tightly pursed. “You’re _so_ tired, aren’t you. How does this shit always happen to you? The craziest shit?”

Su nods into her dress, tears forming. She sniffles and wipes her nose discreetly on her sleeve and then she shrugs. “I don’t know,” she replies miserably. “Maybe that Elvhen God of Mischief is out to get me.”

Her friend coughs a laugh, shaking her head. “It certainly _seems_ divine, that’s for sure.”

They stand in silence, tightly hugging one another. Right when she’s about to ask where the others are, her friend startles her.

“Come with me,” Cas says suddenly, pulling away and placing her hands on suddenly tense shoulders.

“What?” Subira asks, hushed. Castelleta takes a step back and turns to look up at the sky with a grin.

“Tonight. Let’s leave, together, as we should be,” Castelleta’s eyes and tone practically pleaded with her. “Michalis and Herah are waiting for us. We can do it, remember? We can do anything...”

Subira has tears running down her face, doing nothing now to wipe them away. Her sobs are quiet and open.

“Su?” Cas asks hesitantly, taking a step closer again.

Subira shakes her head, backing up in shame. “I can’t come with - with you, Cas,” her voice wobbles, thick with emotion and her chin shaking.

Her friend tosses her head, causing her thick curtain of strawberry blonde hair to go over her shoulder like a lion's mane. “Why not?”

She doesn’t answer. She looks around, trying to find something adequate to say, something that will explain to Cas that she would go if she could and it’s all she’s dreamed about for months, but the Inquisition stands in the way. That she can’t abandon this, that she has to see this through.

“I - You don’t understand, Cas, but - but, you can come here-“

 _“Vous une jetez tout ce que nous avons!”_ Cas accuses fairly loudly, causing Subira to wince.

 _“Non,_ Cas. _Non, personne ne pourrait vous remplacer,”_ Subira tries to reason, her face pinched up and desperately trying not to cry.

Castelleta opens the door and steps out into the dark night and Subira hurries after her. Grand Enchanter Fiona no longer resides in the garden.

The night sky is dark and cloudy, the moons’ shining brightly and shining directly on the two girls. They face each other now, one hunched in on herself and ones slim shoulders drawn wide, chin raised high. The sound of breaking hearts could be heard for miles.

 _“Why?”_ Cas asks, her voice breaking. “Just leave! _Come with me!”_

“You have to understand, Cas, _s’il vous plait!”_ Subira begs, stepping closer with her hand outstretched. Castelleta steps away, a scowl upon her face.

“I’ve heard enough, Su. Or is it _Inquisitor Trevelyan_ now?” Castelleta asks coldly, turning her back to the other girl.

Subira’s heart drops into her stomach.

Castelleta continues harshly, with a cracking voice and hurt eyes, “We’ve been just fine without you. We’ll continue to be.

 _“Je’an marre cet. Adieu,_ Inquisitor.”

The sound of glass shattering and a hoarse, desperate cry briefly ring out as smoke covers the area. Then, it’s completely silent. When the smoke clears, Castelleta is gone.

Subira is on her knees in her wake, shoulders shaking and open, quiet sobs as she kneels under the moonlight.

Cassandra attempts to approach her, gingerly stepping from the shadows, where another face waits. “Anita, I-“

The girl turns, fire and anger and a stark emotion - _loneliness,_ she realizes with a start - that the Seeker hadn’t seen before, but there it is, laid before her.

“That was not for you to hear,” she hisses angrily, but does not move from her spot on the ground. Her eyes are red rimmed and her breaths are ragged. “Did Leliana send you? Just like her to send a babysitter to check up on the _little helpless_ Inquisitor,” she sneers breathlessly, coughing on the end.

Cassandra backs up a bit, stuttering on an answer. The Inquisitor snorts, turning away to face where her friend had once been, and reaches a hand into her pack. The Seeker’s eyes widen.

“Anita, _don’t-!”_

Her throat stings and her eyes won’t open for several moments after the smoke finally clears.

When it does, Anita is gone. All that’s left is pieces of broken glass, glinting in the moonlight on the stone.

Cassandra had been close enough to hear every word. Her Orlesian was never a priority in her studies - mainly because she had never planned on going there, as it represented most things she hated - but having worked as the Right Hand for as long as she did, her translating ability was just fine. Her mind was racing with every increasingly desperate plea from Anita.

The Spymaster got to work immediately when she disappeared. Leliana shouted and barked orders left and right: to search every inch in a 200 mile radius of Skyhold. Agents and soldiers saddled up, jogged through the halls and immediately turned the fortress into the bustling place of activity it was meant to be, even in the dark of night.

Vivienne argued against the logistics of it, “if she is going to hide, not even hounds will find her tonight, my dear,” she had commented easily, and found a knife planted in the wood of the table next to her hand. The First Enchanter didn’t even blink, removing it with a roll of her eyes.

 _“Tch._ That’s good wood, Spymaster. No need for such behavior. Send your men out fumbling in the middle of the night, then.”

And with that, she took an unusually long sip of wine for someone who practices Orlesian etiquette at all times; the only sign that this unnerved her at all.

Josephine desperately tried not to revert to childhood habits - namely nail biting - thus had to keep her hands busy in any way possible. This also meant that she did not sleep - much like most of Skyhold, predictably, considering the Inquisitor is missing mere hours before embarking on a major military campaign.

The Ambassador doesn’t want to admit that she’s broken professionalism, but she knows she has. That little girl has become their lifeblood. They all love her so, _so dearly..._

“Oh, _Tesoro,”_ she murmurs miserably, watching the sun rise over the horizon and feeling inexplicably lonely over a cup of tea and gazing at the other teacup she saves specially for the girl who worked her way into her heart from the word go. “Where are you?”

Leliana does not say much at all, a white-knuckled grip on her table at all times and her minutes occupied by pacing until ravens return to her. But each returns with a similar note:

 

> Clear here. No trace of her anywhere.
> 
> C

* * *

 

> Clear in my region. We’ll find her, Sister.
> 
> L.H.

After awhile, there are no more ravens to be sent. Each of her agents know to update her if need be, but...

In her frustration, worry and - dare I say it, fear - a stack of papers goes across the room, but it only makes the Spymaster feel worse, especially when she has to clean them up. Doing so does force her to stop and take a breath, and when she looks up, Dalish sits on her table. Intelligent eyes peered at her silently, waiting for something.

“Well?” Leliana demands, impatient and temper horribly short.

Disappointed, the elf shakes her head. Evidently, she did not find what she was looking for in the Spymaster, but she does not leave. Instead, she hops off the table and crosses her arms. “I’ll find her. Stay your heart, Spymaster.”

The woman is gone too fast for Leliana to snap at her audacity, but when she’s out of sight she collapses into her chair and rests her head on her arms in exhaustion.

 _Oh, Anita._ She thinks forlornly, feeling the sunlight warming the back of her neck but not comforted in the slightest by the Makers gift. _How do I help you?_

And then, to the Maker, she prays for the first time in quite some time. _Please,_ she asks quietly in her head. _Allow her to return safely. And should you grant me this... I will endeavor to try harder. I will push through. I will be there for her._

 _But please, Maker,_ she begs, that lone sliver of fear that has taken root in everyone making itself known, _let her return_ safe _first._ _Show me you can be merciful._

When the twilight has passed and Leliana’s agents have found nothing, Cassandra and Cullen rush into action. Soldiers mounted and on foot search for the girl.

Dorian argues with Cassandra while Varric and Cole ready the horses to search for her. The dwarf keeps his head down to stay out of the way of the Seeker’s wrath. Cole sits on Hyundai, gently murmuring to the horse who seems just as on edge as the Seeker to find his rider.

Dorian exclaims, “She needs _time,_ Seeker! At the very least, we can give her that!”

Cassandra snorts, roughly tying bags to her saddle. “What she needs is to be here, where we can protect her!”

Dorian throws his hands up in the air with a sneer. _“Kaffas!_ You know very well she can protect herself. She needs time!”

“You know I’m not one to beat a dead horse, Seeker, but...” Varric starts, and then closes his mouth when he sees her thunderous look.

The Seeker crosses her arms, addressing only Dorian. “We are not afforded the time she requires. I am regretful for it, truly, Pavus.”

“You know she will not be found if she doesn’t want to be,” mocks the smug man.

With her mouth set in a grim line and a determined glint in her eye, Cassandra mounts her horse. “We shall see.”

Cole murmurs the same Orlesian lullaby they’ve all become used to from the corner of his mouth.

While there’s, strangely, a few new words that they haven’t heard before added in, mournful and changing the tone of the song, no one wants him to stop.

And when the song abruptly halts mid-search, Cassandra gives up under the sun, tired and angry.

The most influential and arguably, powerful mages of Skyhold - _Solas, Dorian, Vivienne, Fiona_ \- were pressed into creating potions made to track location when the search proved useless. Any other mages who were able and knew what they were doing were encouraged to aide them in any way they required, and most, if not all, did so.

Fiona worked the most quietly, a somber look upon her face. Dorian got irritated with it three hours in, unable to take the insufferable silence.

“What do you have to say?” He demands, stressed and stricken with grief.

The woman startles a bit and then composes herself, continuing her work. “It is... _unfortunate,_ is all. The Inquisitor has been a saving grace, and a wonderful girl.”

He eyes her and snorts, returning to his own. Fiona looks back at him and adds,

“She will return, Altus Pavus. Do not worry.”

Cassandra, having been leaned up against the bookshelves, scowls. “How would you know?”

The former Warden pauses for a moment and gazes out the window forlornly. “I knew a girl like her, once. Trust me, Seeker,” she turns and smiles sadly. “She’ll return.”

Something in the Enchanters eyes didn’t seem right, and yet there was fresh grief and hurt lying deep in them. There was some unidentified emotions that the Seeker didn’t get a chance to inspect because the former Warden turned back to her work with a determined huff.

“But if you insist, they are prepared, Seeker.”

Cassandra looks between the supplies and the Enchanter before sighing. “She’ll return. We cannot...”

Dorian throws his hands up in the air and storms off muttering about the South not having strong enough drinks, and Solas looks mildly inconvenienced but otherwise does not seem bothered. Fiona is reviewing the mage tower plans with a soft look on her face and Vivienne simply sighs.

“It would not have been successful anyway,” Vivienne comments idly, inspecting her nails.

Fiona slows her pace and then picks it up again, shuffling papers inconspicuously and rearranging things.

Cassandra frowns. “Why not?”

Vivienne shrugs. “For some reason, it seems she cannot be tracked. That is, typically, only seen in mages who break their phylactery - _or,_ when the lyrium is out of date.”

Cassandra freezes, staring at the railing across from her. Vivienne, unknowing to her inner worry, begins her departure. “It must have been the lyrium, in any case, because if it wasn’t, it implies..!,” she shakes her head, hiding a laugh behind her hand. _“Hah!_ The _Inquisitor..._ A _mage._ An escaped one, at that. She doesn’t have enough self control.”

Solas strolls past the Seeker with an even look on his face, nodding to her as he goes. “There is always much to think about, yes?”

Before she can reply, he’s gone, and she’s left with her thoughts.

Later, when she can’t sleep and she stumbles down to the cellar in a haze and checks the box that they got the lyrium from, she finds that it’s the freshest batch they had.

Cassandra decides it was a mistake.

_Right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations  
> Orlesian:  
> non - no  
> Vous une jetez tout ce que nous avons! - you throw away all we have!  
> personne ne pourrait vous remplacer - nobody could replace you!  
> s’il vous plait! - please!  
> Je’an marre cet - i'm done with this/i am fed up with this  
> adieu - goodbye.  
> merde - shit  
> Antivan:  
> tesoro - sweetheart/dear  
> Tevene:  
> Kaffas! - fuck! or some swear word


	53. Say They Miss The Real Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, they're just happy to have her back. Subira worries internally regardless.

Subira ran to the furthest clearing she could find, using her magic to twist the Veil and cloak herself. And from there, she went into the Fade after setting wards. Anything to get _away_.

It’s two days before the March to Adamant, now, and her dreams wrestle between hellscape and memories. Cole tried to make an appearance, but she drove him away, too.

Castelleta walks towards her, hand outstretched before turning into dust and blowing away, Michalis runs past her laughing and is impaled on a sword. Herah giggles and gets her mouth sewn shut for it. Struggling to wake up, she fights through the web of the Fade.

**Before she wakes up, an image of hundreds of eyes and horrible, spindly legs flashes before her eyes.**

With a gasp, her eyes snapped open. She calms her breathing and sits up, listening closely. Nothing.

Sera jumps into the small clearing over a wall. “Nice place you got here.”

Subira startles, standing on legs numb from hours of resting and stumbles, righting herself on a piece of crumbling wall.

“Fuck, Sera!” she curses and Sera rolls her eyes.

“Do you know how long it took us to find you?” The elf demands, pressing in closer.

“That was the point!” Subira exclaims loudly, causing Sera’s ears to narrow briefly. “I didn’t want to be found! I’m sick of being what they want me to be. We march for a major battle in a day. But now you’re going to drag me back.”

Sera’s face goes through several stages of emotion. “You don’t get it, do ya?!” The elf looks ready to throttle the girl. “Lady Fancypants has been out of her mind worrying about you. Stabby-Stab hasn’t slept. Stick-Up-Her-Arse has been whacking the training dummies into a bazillion pieces!”

Sera starts pacing. Subira opens her mouth to say something but closes it, her cheeks suddenly red and the elf rounds on her furiously. “What, got nothin’ to say? When are you goin’ to realize that you’re loved, kid? The Chargers haven’t stopped looking for you. Dalish was the one who lead me here.”

“They only want the _‘Herald’_ back,” she snarls back at the older elf, crossing her arms. Sera blinks, not sure how she didn’t realize how angry and incredibly emotive she really was. “Their _precious_ Inquisitor. I’ll be lectured as soon as we get back and then it’s back to business as usual!”

Sera groans in frustration, pacing faster and pulling on her hair. “That ain’t the point! You disappeared for hours! When was the last time you ate?”

Subira blinks, suddenly disoriented, placing her hand on the wall to steady herself. “It’s been... wait, how long?”

Sera gapes at her. “You don’t even know how long it’s been?!”

She scratches the back of her neck. “Well...”

“We’re going back,” Sera decides, jumping forward and grabbing the girl’s wrist in an iron grip. Subira’s eyes widen and she tugs back, but the elf doesn’t let go.

“Sera, let me go,” she says nervously, eyeing her wrist and then the elf.

“Nope, I’m done with you runnin’ off,” Sera replies, resolutely walking in the other direction.

“Sera-“ Subira’s voice cracks now. Her panic manifests itself in an electric shock, bright and green, traveling from herself to Sera. “Let me _go!”_

Sera is pushed off her feet away from Subira, who backs up, wrist to her chest and eyes down.

The elf jumps up, out of breath and in shock - when she pauses at the look on the girls face.

_Fear._

Dalish arrives seconds later, looking between the two of them and rolling her eyes. “Good job, Jenny. You had _one_ job and you managed to scare the kid.”

Dalish cautiously approaches the teenager, heedless of Sera’s fumbling words. “Ana, it’s Dalish. It’s alright.”

Subira’s glassy eyes clear for a moment, looking between the two of them before barreling into the elf’s arms, shaking like a leaf. Dalish shushes her and rocks slightly.

Sera says hesitantly, “Hey, kid, I’m sorry, I...”

Subira doesn’t react, holding her wrist in a vice grip. Dalish separates her fingers from around her wrist with soft force and grimaces at the marks she left behind.

“Hey, Jenny?” Dalish calls to the elf standing awkwardly behind them.

The elf tilts her head.

“Do us all a favor and keep yourself discreet about what you just saw,” Dalish warns lightly. “Or you won’t be able to use a bow for the rest of your life.”

Sera blinks and swallows. _“Y-yeah._ I can do that.”

Dalish smiles like she didn’t just threaten another person. “Alright. Okay, kid, let’s get back to Skyhold, huh? You can tell us about that friend I heard about...”

* * *

 _“Castelleta,”_ Subira croaks when they are alone. “Her name is Castelleta.”

Alone in her room with Dalish, she’s still not sure how they snuck her in. But she’s wrapped up in blankets and the elf has a firm but reassuring grip on her hand, grounding her in reality.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly, Dalish,” she sighs, closing her eyes and then snapping them open. “Not until I have to.”

The Charger nods. “That’s reasonable.”

Voices sound from the stairs, muffled. _“Leliana, no one has been in or out in over-“_

 _“I’m telling you, Josie,”_ Leliana’s voice insists. _“My scouts reported light and noise. It does not hurt to investigate.”_

Dalish vanishes to the balcony, wincing apologetically and presumably hiding. Moments later, the door to her chambers open.

Josephine walks in, not seeing anything out of order except for one candle lit. “See, Leliana, all it is is a candle. Perhaps a scout-“

The clipboard clatters to the ground. Leliana turns on her heel and finds herself similarly stunned.

“Hi?” Subira tries weakly.

Josephine rushes forward, angry tears in her eyes and pulls the girl into her arms, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Don’t you ever do that again!”

The girl startles, slowly wrapping her arms around the Ambassador and closing her eyes, inhaling the soothing, familiar scent.

“I’m sorry,” she offers in a creaking voice. She sniffles and the other women in the room blink in a bit of a surprise.

Josephine repeats in a teary, forceful voice, “Do not ever do that again, Anita! We have been - I have been out of my mind with worry! I thought you were hurt, or dead - _or - or_ the worst! My tesoro, _mija,_ are you hurt?”

Soft hands cup her face and Subira’s own eyes fill with tears when she sees the few that spill down Josephine’s cheeks. She feels so awful that Josephine is so upset because of her.

“No, I’m not hurt,” she whispers, choking out a, “I’m _sorry.”_

Josephine shushes her, pulling her in for a hug again, rubbing her back and rocking gently. “You’re back, that’s all that matters. It’s okay now. It’s okay. _We’re okay.”_

Subira nods against her front and lets the woman hug her as tightly as she wants, warmth spreading in her chest. Leliana watches with an interest almost absent of her normal critical gaze.

“Well? Are you here to lecture me?”

Leliana shakes her head, a small smile on her lips. “Lecturing has gotten us nowhere with you. I’m just glad you’re home safe.”

 _Home? Safe?_ These words swirl in Subira’s mind as the two women do various things for her; a cup of tea, adjusting her pillows, each holding a hand of hers. Josephine frowns when she sees her wrist and pulls up her sleeve to see it better.

“Tesoro, what happened here?” Her finger lightly traces the bruise, warming the hurt skin.

She exhales a shaky breath. “Sera... startled me-“

“Sera did this?” Leliana exclaims, righteous fury lighting up in her eyes.

“No, no, let me explain,” she soothes her, bringing her back to sit on the bed. “She startled me, wouldn’t let go of my wrist. I - got scared. I held my own wrist too tightly.”

Sera strolls in casually from the large door, to no one’s surprise anymore. “More like you got lost. You weren’t _here,”_ the elf knocks on her own skull with a fist, “for a few minutes, kid. Scared me good, you did.”

Subira weakly replies. Her voice strains almost physically with the words. “I - suppose being trapped reminded me of some bad experiences.”

Cole, sitting at the end of her bed with crossed legs, reaches out to ghost his fingers over the bruise and murmurs, _“trapped punishments in the dark, cracked voices too little to hear.”_

The girl closes her eyes and replies with a tear-thick voice, “Yes, Cole.”

While Leliana’s eyes darkened in anger, Josephine leans closer and presses a kiss to her temple, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “It’s alright, _mija,”_ the phrase slips from her tongue again carelessly, but neither seem to notice or care. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“There are many things I will eventually have to talk about,” the girl sighs, staring with an unfocused into the fire. “I was reckless, and it will all catch up. But not now.”

Leliana’s eyebrows raise, but for the moment she leaves it alone. _She’s sure eventually the girl will open up..._

_... But for now, they’ll be happy she’s back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations  
> mija - my daughter  
> tesoro - dear/sweetheart


	54. Think I Might Die Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adamant closes in. Across the sea, another ally steps up to the plate - but will it be too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop i posted this without a title or summary or anything LMAO im just excited to finally get adamant out, i just finished touching the chapters up.

Subira woke up that night crying out for a mother that was never there, seashell necklace just in her grasp... and then it wasn’t, breaking apart between her fingers and then disappearing entirely as consciousness began to claim her once again. The darkness of her room floods her eyes and startles her briefly but she lays there with wet eyes, staring up at the ceiling.

And then she hastily slips her boots on and throws a coat over her nightgown and quietly sneaks down the stairs, sliding on the banisters so as to make less noise. One of the agents assigned to her room walks by the door and her breath caught in her throat, hugging the wall with her arms spread.

Tiptoeing across the hall, she reaches Solas’ veranda and unsurprisingly, he’s up with multiple candles lit as he tirelessly works on the mural. His head swivels around when his Elvhen ears catch the slight woosh of her coat on the air, but she’s already rushing up the stairs and gone.

For a moment he considers going after her, and then Cole follows close behind, shaking his head mutely. Solas sighs and returns to his bitter tea and agonizing over the painting.

Cole yanked her by the coat backwards when she nearly steps into the library and she’s about to scold him when he silently points at the agent that comes down from the Rookery and continues past them.

Begrudgingly she nodded her thanks and slinks forward, barely able to see in the just-lit library and cursing her very human eyes that can’t see in the dark. Cole steadies her and prevents her from tripping on any tables and finally she steps into the cold night, releasing a deep breath after she closes the door behind her.

 _Wow, Skyhold really is warmer now._ Goosebumps spread up her arms and the back of her neck.

Just as she’s approaching the door to Cullen’s office, it opens. She lurches to the side as Cullen and one of his Officers talk quietly over a report and they release the door. She slips around the side and in, quietly allowing the door to shut with a breath of relief.

_Finally, the last stretch._

Through the left door out of Cullen’s office she steps back into the quiet, windy night and across the pathway until she’s at the corner of Skyhold, overlooking the valley.

The stars shine in their quiet, knowing way and eventually she finds her eyes blurring, the tears from before returning.

Leliana stands behind her pensively, sighing at Cole’s intrusion next to her minutes later. He waits patiently until she looks to him with a resigned gaze.

 _“Seashells and lullabies,”_ he murmurs in almost a whisper. “The scent of jasmine and tobacco. She said she was coming back.”

Leliana turns to him in confusion, lips parted, and he does not flinch. His lips are pursed and his eyes unfocused. But then he shakes his head and the hat falls back over his face again.

“Don’t worry. She does not remember,” he says, barely a reassurance. And then he adds, _“mostly.”_

Before the Spymaster can question him on the cryptic, personal information, he’s gone - like he hadn’t been there.

Making her footsteps louder, she approaches Anita and gently sits next to her. The girl doesn’t turn, tears streaming down her face and small hiccups erupting from her every now and then.

“Have you ever heard the story of Alindra and her soldier?” Leliana asks softly.

Anita does not answer.

Leliana continues anyway, “They say she became a constellation, and that she followed her love into the stars...”

The hiccups turn into sniffles and Anita eventually turns to look at the Spymaster as she tells the story, knees to her chest and eyes guarded.

“Where is Alindra and her soldier?” the girl asks at the end.

“Right... _here,”_ the woman points up, guiding her hand. “They say once she cried enough to fill up the river, she could cross and reach her love.”

“That’s sad,” Anita says quietly.

“It is,” Leliana agrees. “It used to be my favorite story, once upon a dream. I have not told that one in... Well, it has been a long time. I fell in love with the passion of Alindra and her soldier - how devoted they were.”

Anita nods against her leg, eyes shut. Leliana cards her fingers through her hair gently, staring down at her Inquisitor.

“Why did you come out here without proper clothing?” she finally inquires, but Anita is fast asleep.

Dalish appears from the dark, bright, reflective eyes peering down at the girl in concern. “Should I take her, Sister?”

The Spymaster shakes her head, gathering the girl in her arms and standing. “No, thank you.”

Dalish nods once before turning to leave and then Leliana adds, “take the night off.”

She hesitates for a moment before nodding and finally disappearing into the dark. Leliana sighs, watching the breaths pass through the Inquisitor’s lips and creating puffs of condensation into the wind before swiftly returning her to her chambers.

Leliana brushes her hair out of her face and leaves with a kiss on her forehead. Despite this, she still cries out an hour later, again startled by the stark darkness in her room and this time clutching her stomach, where her worst scar resides. Cole gently places a slightly chilly hand over her eyes, humming an old Rivaini lullaby she always had trouble remembering the notes to.

Sleepily, she asks, “Cole, where did you learn that? I haven’t heard it... since... I was so... little...”

Cole smiles just a bit. “I learned it from you. Do not be afraid. I will protect you from the monsters tonight, my friend,” he whispers.

Subira curls onto her side, grabbing Cole’s hand and clutching it hard. Tears filled her eyes and her mouth wobbles. “Cole?”

“Yes?”

“I’m _sad,”_ she croaks, a tear slipping down her cheek without her permission.

“I know,” he replies knowingly, squeezing her hand.

 _“Why_ am I so sad?”

More tears fall now, hot and stinging.

Cole does not answer her, only pauses and squeezes her hand softly, gently.

She knows why she is so sad. And yet she cannot fix it.

_Orphan child. Broken girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Her sobs are muffled in her blanket and pillows until it finally trails off and her eyes become too heavy to stay lucid. They shut painfully and eventually she passes out from emotional exhaustion. The only noise is a slight whistling, every breath passing hoarsely through her nostrils and lungs.

* * *

Morning comes with a page to her door and a request to be in the War Room nigh immediately. With a popping knee she sighs and rolls out of bed, her eyes red and she winces at the roughness around them. Then she rolls back her shoulders and puts herself back together, staring at the mirror and seeing the pieces of herself stringing together tightly to form a tired mask.

Standing outside the War Room, Varric and Hawke speak in hushed tones. Subira peers from around the corner with curious eyes, knowing her advisors are waiting for her. Her eavesdropping is an unfortunate habit she’s had trouble breaking.

“I tracked that Venatori mage back to Adamant Fortress,” Hawke tells Varric. “They’re looking at assault options now.”

“Thanks for coming,” Varric says softly instead, looking right at Hawke.

The two avoid eye contact for awhile before she sighs. “You did well, Varric. The Inquisitor is... _just_ who we need.”

“Aw, it’s been great,” he replies unconvincingly. “Murderous Wardens, Archdemon attacks, plenty of blood mages and crazy Templar’s... Just like home.”

Hawke clearly sees through him. “I know how much you hated leaving Kirkwall.”

Subira’s heart sinks a little bit, shrinking back behind the door. Not that it matters, right? Of course this experience wouldn’t be changed at all for Varric. He didn’t want to leave his friends, his home, to deal with this, come deal with some teenager. Why would she think anything else? _Of course_ he misses what he had.

_Of course he does._

The small twinges of envy and sadness  hurt her physically inside but she buries them, stomping and twisting until it shuts up.

He laughs it off. “This is the ass-end of Thedas. You know they eat _snails_ here?” Hawke gives him a level look and he sighs deeply. “Still, I think... I, uh, need to finish this out. If it weren’t for me and Bartrand, none of this would be happening. So much for changing our lives, huh?”

Hawke smirks wryly. “That’s what happens when you change things, Varric. _Things change.”_

They teeter off into silence with Hawke tapping the heel of her boot against the wall behind her rhythmically. Subira finally walks down the hallway, uncharacteristically quiet and greeting them both with a nod before entering the war room beyond them. The two share spooked looks at her startling calmness outside the door.

“Good morning,” she murmurs, her advisors turning to her.

“Barely morning, now is it?” Cullen grumbles, awake and ready, but clearly not happy about it. “Now that you’re here, we can get started,” he adds and looks to Leliana.

Leliana walks around the edge of the table, inspecting her markers. “Adamant Fortress has stood against the Darkspawn since the time of the Second Blight,” she starts, looking back to Cullen.

He clears his throat. “Thankfully for us, that means it was built before modern siege equipment. A strong trebuchet would do major damage to those walls. And, with help from our Lady Ambassador..."

Josephine smiles broadly. “Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers. They’ve _already_ delivered the trebuchets.”

“That is the good news,” Leliana comments lightly, fingers tracing the outline of Adamant.

Subira leans against the table and waves a hand expectantly. The advisors share glances.

“Hawke reported that Erimond called the ritual in the Western Approach a test,” Leliana says first.

Subira nods, vaguely recalling the man’s words. It had been hard to make it out through all of the excess evil-monologue. _And the pain._

“Which means he may already have an army of demons in Adamant Fortress,” Subira murmurs, frustratedly gripping the table. “Alright, so what do we do about it?”

Cullen spreads a hand, pointing to the front of Adamant Fortress, “our forces can breach the gate. But if the Wardens already have their demons...”

Leliana shakes her head. “Not to worry, Commander. I’ve found records of the Fortress’ construction. There are multiple choke points we can use to our advantage and limit the field of battle. Namely, keeping the demons subdued while Cassandra and her team deal with the Wardens.”

“Hold on, excuse me?” Subira blinks a few times. “Did you just say _‘Cassandra and her team’_? What about me?”

Leliana purses her lips, contemplating how to reply, and then says, “you will be fighting with Cullen where you will be safe.”

Subira glowers at her. “Are you kidding me? I should be with Cassandra! Erimond is working for Corypheus! Who wants _me!”_

With an apologetic wince, Cullen steps in. “Which is why you’ll be with me, so we can keep you safe, Inquisitor...”

“No,” she relies vehemently, shaking with the tension in her body. “You do not get to address me as Inquisitor and then insist I stay back for my safety. Nothing about this has been safe. I haven’t been safe my entire life. Be afraid of losing the mark, sure, whatever,” she hisses, causing all three advisors to tense at their unforeseen implication, “but Cassandra and our team can protect each other. I should be there.”

“The decision was already made, Inquisitor,“ Leliana tries to set her stance firmly to dissuade the girl.

“Damn you, then,” she stands as tall as she can, scowl set firmly in place. They blink, surprised by the height she’s grown this year, something they hadn’t truly noticed. “You know you have no way to keep me there.”

Surprisingly, Josephine is the one who caves first with a sigh. “She’s right, you know.”

Startled protests erupt from her colleagues, and she holds up a hand to silence them and they hush their protests unhappily. “If she does not want to stay there, she will not. We might as well allow her to go with Cassandra’s party and assign extra protection to their group.”

Knowing that’s the best she’s going to get, Subira nods in what she believes is a professional manner.

Leliana clenches her fists and unclenches them multiple times before acquiescing with a stiff nod, and Cullen sighs in exasperation.

“We just want you to be _safe,_ Anita,” he says softly, looking directly at her.

The intensity of the emotion he’s directing at her startles her and she looks away.

“I know,” she replies, lying to the floor instead of his face. “But I have to be there. I can handle myself. Plus, do you think Cassandra would let anything happen to me?”

“Absolutely not,” the Nevarran herself snorts, quietly closing the door behind her. “What are we discussing?”

“Sending the Inquisitor with your group on the front,” Leliana says in a tone that clearly implies _be careful how you reply._

With raised eyebrows, the woman nods slowly. “I will protect her with my life,” she swears to the three standing at the table. And then she turns to the Inquisitor herself, kneeling in front of her solemnly. “And, we’ve always protected each other, yes? This battle shall be no different.”

With a blush, Subira mumbles a, “right.”

Seeing that settled, Cassandra stands. “Leliana, you said you had information for me on the missing seekers?”

“I asked her to look further into her leads,” Subira adds, inspecting the travel route lined on the table.

The Spymaster inclines her head stiffly, still not quite happy with the decision they came to. “Indeed. I should have some sort of solid lead on their whereabouts by the time you return from Adamant, Cassandra. Have faith.”

Cassandra grunts in response, folding her arms over her chest.

“Back to the topic at hand, then?” Josephine suggests lightly, tapping on her clipboard with her quill and checking out the window quickly for the sun. “Time _is_ of the essence, after all.”

“Right,” Cullen hums, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Thanks to Leliana’s proposed choke points, we have a chance. While we may not be able to defeat them outright, by cutting off reinforcements we can give you a straight path to Warden-Commander Clarel.”

“Is that the only way?” Subira inquires, thinking of all the men and women they’ll lose in the process.

The Commander grimaces apologetically. “It’ll be hard fought, but we’ll get that gate open.”

“It’s also possible that some of the Wardens may be alike in mind to Warden Stroud and Commander Andras,” Josephine adds with a touch of optimism. “They may be sympathetic to our cause.”

“The warriors may be willing to listen to reason, though I doubt they’ll turn against Clarel in a direct manner,” Leliana scoffs in the back of her throat in annoyance. “The mages are _slaves_ to Corypheus. They have no choice at this point in time - they will fight to the death.”

“We’ve readied the forces and built our siege equipment, Anita,” Cullen nods to her. “We march when dawn strikes.”

She is quickly reminded that the sun has not risen yet, rubbing her eyes tiredly and shifting in chafing armor. “Who is coming to Adamant?”

“Everyone,” Leliana answers immediately.

She blinks. _“Everyone?”_

Josephine lifts up a paper and squints. “Sera is going to stay back and aid the archers in the back line - or, rather, she’s supposed to. Meanwhile, the Iron Bull and his Lieutenant, Cremissius, and Blackwall will take up defense and help our forces cut the path. Enchanter Vivienne and Altus Pavus will be their support.”

Cassandra adds, “Solas, Varric, Warden Stroud...” she pauses like she swallowed something sour, _“... Hawke...”_ and finishes, “and I will accompany you, Inquisitor.”

“I’m coming, too,” Cole adds quietly from the corner, alerting them to the fact that he sat in for the meeting.

Subira jumps and then swears under her breath. “Cole, that’s fine, but next time announce your presence please?”

“Has he been there the whole time, then?” Cullen mutters conspiratorially out of the corner of his mouth.

While she gives Cole a sidelong look, she is far past the time of scolding him. “I suspect he has, Commander,” Cassandra confirms with exasperation.

“One other thing,” Subira adds nervously. _“Grand - Former-“_ she cuts herself off in frustration and tries again, _“Fiona_ has asked to be allowed to fight, and I did not deny her request.”

Cullen nods, fitting that detail in. “That’s excellent, actually. Another mage with Vivienne - _Sorry,_ Madame de Fer - takes some stress off of the forces. And I’m sure there are other mages coming with her, in that case.”

“Given how important Lady Fiona was during the Fourth Blight, her presence could even sway some Wardens to our cause,” Josephine with more enthusiasm.

Leliana adds, “She contacted the King of Ferelden. I don’t know how she did it, but he sent us some of his men,” she chuckles, reading through a letter with analytical eyes, clearly doubtful but the truth is laid in front of her. “They should be at the checkpoint now, actually. Alistair always _was_ a softy...”

After a few moments of tense, expectant silence, Subira asks, “Is everything set? Lady Ambassador, you’re prepared to be here while we are away?”

The Antivan nods, privately thinking of her family’s couriers who were killed just weeks ago. “You have nothing to worry about, Inquisitor.”

Subira, to everyone’s surprise, grins. It’s a hollow and empty thing, and for once they barely see through it, the edges cracking through and nearly splitting her in half. It startled them each to think that maybe every smile had been like that.

But then she’s turning, grabbing the Quest Knife. “Well, Adamant Fortress,” she stabs it into the map and Cullen stares at it in dismay, “here we come.”

* * *

Somewhere across the sea, a pirate captain shakes a drowsy elf awake. “Rise and shine, Tabris,” the woman purrs. “Time to face the music, doll.”

The elf smacks her lips together and glares at the woman standing above her. “Waddya _want,_ Isabela?”

“We have to go to Orlais,” Isabela informs her, finally just reaching down and slinging the slight elf over her shoulder. “Just like you to be hungover when I need you.”

“Hey!” Tabris protests, trying to wriggle out of her grasp. “You’re hungover too!”

“Doll, I can handle my alcohol,” Isabela grins. “Anyway, it’s time. Kirkwall doesn’t need you right now. The Wardens _do.”_

Tabris looks into the small row boat in front of them, where the armor her brother was gifted after his death, to honor him, lays neatly.

“How did you even get that?” Tabris murmurs, getting lost in the blue fabric.

Isabela shrugs. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. But you need to move on. I heard something bad is happening in Orlais with the Wardens-“

 _“I know,”_ Tabris mutters. “I know.”

“You know?” Isabela asks incredulously, dumping her in the row boat. “Then why in the seven hells haven’t you done anything?”

Tabris flattens her ears, but Isabela just tuts. “Kallian, I’ve seen too much of you for that to scare me, love. Now, _talk._ We have a lot of ground to cover.”


	55. Let My Blade Touch The Ground.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adamant Part 1. Can't summarize without giving too much away... the next chapter has way more detail than this, this is just setting up the angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lowkey just really excited to post this so... here we go.

The sky churns with thick, black clouds that look like sulfur and the wind is harsh, blowing the sands back and forth and howling.

The Inquisition Forces approach the Fortress, marching strong and spirits high. The Dawn Will Come as a hopeful chant rather than a mournful melody after tragedy glides across the troops.

With her hands stuffed in thick gloves, no one can tell how the mark is reacting - badly. But on top of her _even-bigger-than-Hyundai-War-Horse_ \- who is _not_ Hyundai only because she was too afraid to bring him into an actual war zone - she sits tall and unafraid, unassuming.

Solas and Cole are on edge more than usual, and Varric wants to fuss over her, subtly asking for her opinion on different things and making baiting remarks to check that she’s still in there.

She blocks it out in favor of seeing everything happen around her at a slower pace than it actually is, the people around her passing in slow-motion.

They reach the gate and one of Leliana’s runners, walking beside her, hands her an arrow with cloth wrapped around the tip and soaked in what smells like lanolin. Another agent passes her her bow - a gift courtesy of Sera, who said she needed her own and to stop ‘borrowing’ others if she’s going to be a proper marksman - and she loads the arrow.

The agent inclines their head and she allows them to light it before taking a deep breath, drawing the string back - ignoring the twitch of pain in her shoulder because of it - and releasing it into the sky, a beacon of the battle to come.

Within seconds, the trebuchets begin to fire. The Commander is on the ground barking orders and preparing to splinter the door, looking quite gallant with his mantle freshly washed and, _‘primly groomed’_ Cullen described it as with pink cheeks before they departed, mantle sways over his shoulder.

The first door goes down with an ear splitting noise and Subira dismounts and allows her mount to be taken, quickly following after Cullen and her companions follow suit. Stroud and Sidona approach at a half-jog.

“Are you ready?” Cassandra asks them, sword-and-shield drawn and her gaze full of scrutiny.

Sidona raises an eyebrow. “It will not be the last time I have to take down an offending Warden, Seeker. Kindly let us _get on with it.”_

Hawke draws her great sword, chuckling. “Well, this is going to be... interesting.”

“For the Wardens!” Stroud shouts, charging into battle. Sidona rolls her eyes, but begins casting spells nonetheless.

 _For Castelleta,_ she thinks. _For everyone I’ve met on this journey. For everyone I’ve killed. For me._

A flying piece of rock nearly decimates her and an icy hand reaches out to yank her out of the way. Before she can thank the mage, Sidona mutters, “watch your back, will you?”

Subira tries to concentrate with the pain in her hand and finds herself falling into a rhythm. The hum of battle - metal clashing, screams of the dying, fire crackling and the tha-thump tha-thump of feet like drums against the ground becomes background noise as she fights through stubborn Wardens and demons, sweat already collecting on her face.

Another trebuchet fires and subsequently fractures the locking mechanism on the door they need to get through.

“Okay, Inquisitor,” Cullen says breathlessly. “You’re through. We’ll keep them off as long as we can.”

Subira shakes her head. “Stay safe, Commander. Just - Stay safe. Don’t you dare take any risks.”

He nods solemnly, turning back to support the fighting. A cackling laugh ringing out and bursts of fire exploding signals Sera’s arrival on the battle field, and then a head of straw-colored hair pops up on the wall. Startled yelling erupts from the chaos and the companions staying behind rush to give her back up.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra hollers from the door. “Let’s go!”

 _Yes,_ she thinks with finality, knowing somewhere inside her that things will change permanently today. _Let’s go._

* * *

“Their minds are not there own!” A voice shouts over the chaos. Who’s, she couldn’t say. They all blurred together at this point to form two types of faces: _friend_ or _enemy._

The mage Wardens move mechanically, with precise movements that counter every step you take. She closes her eyes every time she has to take one’s life. The mark is full of energy and they’re overwhelmed, Solas struggling to provide Varric and Cole back up and Cassandra steadfastly throwing enemies off of the three of them, all but roaring with fierce energy. Hawke and Stroud stand back to back, fending off demons while Sidona casts a large spell, sweat beading on her forehead and chanting under her breath.

In a split second decision she grabs onto the edges of the Veil and rips, bringing a rift into existence. The demons screech and wail, fading into nothingness as the rift tears them apart and back into the Fade. And then it’s over, the rift closes of its own volition and she stumbles to her knees, weak and barely able to hold her own weight. There’s no time for her to look to Solas because a blade is thrust under her chin and she blinks blearily, contemplating letting herself throw up.

“Keep your distance!” A wobbling voice commands.

If Subira were provided a distraction, he would be an easy target to take down; by how sloppy his form is, she could simply use his weight against him and-

Stroud steps forward now, causing Subira to shake her head and blink to pay attention, ignoring the disgusting thoughts. Once she stopped blindly murdering for the Crows and living mostly on autopilot, she thought she would outgrow those thoughts quicker.

“Most of you might know me! I am Stroud, a Senior Warden. We are only here to stop Clarel, not harm the Order!”

While they do seem to recognize his name, the fear struck into their hearts by Clarel and Erimond has a tight, unrelenting grip.

The one holding a sword under the Inquisitor’s chin seems to realize overtime that she’s rather important, if by the way the Seeker practically growls and foams at the mouth with sword and shield ready while the girl kneels is any indication. Another could be the crossbow trained on his face, or the very large Ferelden woman trying to sneakily get around the Wardens to cause pandemonium and retrieve the Inquisitor.

But it seems no action, whether by Varric and Cassandra’s weapons or Hawke’s rather eccentric, harebrained plan, is needed.

Sidona rolls her eyes and approaches confidently, batting the sword away without blinking and the man gasps, stumbling back.

 _“Wardens!_ I am Commander Sidona Andras. Fall back and allow the Inquisition Forces through, and you shall not be harmed. Failure to cooperate could result in some...” she chuckles darkly, her incisors sharp and only making her seem more menacing. _“Dire_ circumstances.”

Nervously, the Warden sheaths his blade. “Alright. Go on, then.”

With one eyebrow raised at the quivering man, she replies, “I planned on it.”

The Wardens, dispersing to allow the group to continue, murmur about Sidona and her apparent reappearance. _Whatever that means._

“I didn’t know she was Dalish,” one Warden with a bushy mustache mutters, and another, a lean mage, elbows him in the side.

“She’s not, she’s an Enchanter from Montsimmard, you dolt.”

The first one pouts and dramatically rubs his elbowed side. “How was I supposed to know? She’s got that damn... _stuff_ on her face!”

A Warden with the marks of Falon’Din pipes up from the side in a bored tone, _“vallaslin,_ you absolute fool.”

“What she said,” the Warden replies obliviously, the group beginning their walk away. “And anyway, she’s damn scary either way. Can’t _believe_ Ferelden got stuck with her.”

“She’s a good Commander,” the Dalish one defends, her teeth practically gnashing together to do so. “She would’ve been better than Clarel, that’s for sure. It’s a damn shame that elf didn’t stick around after the Fifth Blight to become Commander, what with all the problems Andras had to...”

As they walk away, Subira tilts her head innocently but with a genuine curiosity and hunger for information buried deep in her eyes and expression. “Sidona? There was another elf?”

To her knowledge, there was only one, and even with King Alistair’s motions to make sure he is remembered correctly, his ears are often ground off of the statues erected in his honor - something that prompted a frustrated Alistair to have them made from metal and it became increasingly difficult to get rid of his pointed ears, to most of Ferelden’s surprise. No King had _ever_ tried that hard to preserve the memory of an elf.

But the damage was done; Darrian Tabris, the city elf who saved them all, was no longer a city elf in most stories. She had asked Zevran about him, knowing that he had traveled with the rag-tag group of people from different backgrounds all trying to keep the Darkspawn away during the Blight, but all she got was a sad smile and wistful eyes.

Regardless, she’d only heard a few stories of there being _‘another’_ elf, and most of the time they were about Zevran, the deadly Crow who began to take them down from the inside with a vengeance.

 _Maybe that’s another elf-narrative being erased,_ she muses bitterly. _If there was another elf, why would they want anyone to know?_

After her thoughts are sorted she shakes her head and still she looks at Sidona with curious eyes as the woman tries to decide how to answer.

Eventually, Sidona scoffs with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “A _kn-“_

With a cursory look to her surrounding company she carefully decides on, “-a _city_ elf who fought in the Fifth Blight. I believe it was her brother who-!”

A demon attacks from the left with a snarling, foaming mouth and razor-sharp claws, leaving no more time for conversation. Cole directs them through the fighting frantically, indicating the urgency of clearing the demons to help their soldiers.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Sera laughs with glee, shooting arrow after arrow into demons and possessed Wardens alike.

“Sera!” Subira calls happily, and then turns to block an attack and pales. “Oh, shit.”

A pride demon towers over her, laughing menacingly and electricity bundling up in large, destructive palms.

“What did we say, kid?” Hawke shouts, pulling Subira out of the way and twirling into an enemy with her sword, tearing through them. “You gotta be careful!”

“Sorry!” She calls, feeling the explosion of warm energy of the small protection rune she sewed into her armor and the juxtaposing chill that rolls over her as Solas cast a barrier.

Sera hurries her along anxiously when the demon is down. “What’re ya waiting for, kid? Go, go!”

“Stay safe, guys!” She yells behind her, practically running forward.

Sera doesn’t reply as she scrambled up onto Bull - which only prompted a grunt from the man when Sera accidentally kicked him in the ear as she got settled - and now sits on his shoulders, taking out targets that might try to attack him while he uses his axe to take care of any who do manage to get close. Krem stands on his blindside with a confident expression, holding his sword proudly.

Vivienne, Dorian and Blackwall work surprisingly well together, defending and protecting Inquisition Soldiers at a different part of the wall. Subira notices a slight smirk on the Enchanter’s normally stoic face and a light in her eyes that isn’t often there.

“Vivienne, darling, I believe you’re slipping!” Dorian calls teasingly, a small smile curling under his mustache.

Underneath the playful attitude there is a slight crinkle in his forehead, indicting a strain. Sweat drips down their foreheads and Dorian’s perfectly styled hair is just a little bit frayed.

Vivienne laughs haughtily. “As _if,_ Pavus.”

A demon sprouts up behind the gloating Enchanter and Subira sprints full speed at Blackwall with no regard for her knee.

“Blackwall! Shield up!”

Startled briefly, he realizes her intention and doesn’t hesitate to place his shield for her. Having only done this once - _and as a practice drill_ \- he watches nervously, the time stretching by.

But he didn’t have to worry. Though her knee stretches and hitches uncomfortably, she launches herself off of Blackwall’s shield and onto the demon behind Vivienne, breathing heavily after its dead. She grins up at her now fairly confused companions.

Vivienne blinks while Dorian laughs loudly. “So, you were saying, my dear?”

She merely rolls her eyes and doesn’t reply. “Wonderful work,” she says to the Inquisitor, instead.

They can’t stay like that forever, shifting back into the fight gradually as the demons come.

“How are things, Viv?” Subira asks over the battle, tripping a demon and then slashing in rapid strokes through its flesh until it dissipates.

“Going beautifully,” the woman replies, freezing a mage in their spot and then bringing down electricity onto them, immediately flaming a demon coming up behind Blackwall.

The man himself says very little, mostly reduced to grunts and huffs. He kills a shade coming up behind Subira and she takes a moment to breathe, but it’s in this moment that she realizes more are coming.

“Why are you still here, darling? _Go!”_ Vivienne gently cups her cheek before pushing her in the right direction, gesturing with her head.

Dorian reaches a hand out but it falls short, pulling back. Vivienne places her hand on his shoulder, a silent show of comfort. With an odd understanding between them, they return to Blackwall’s side, working in better harmony than before.

“May the Maker protect her,” Blackwall says gruffly, coughing to cover up a sniffle as they watch her go. Vivienne, for once, does not retort scathingly, only appears an inch sympathetic before casting fire over his shoulder.

One last time she looks back where Subira last was and murmurs, “Maker protect her indeed.”

A sword forms in her hand and she gracefully thrusts it into the demon that had planned on sneaking up behind Dorian and she resumed the familiar dance of battle.

The last point is defended by Fiona, casting spells left and right with a sword in her other hand. Many of her fellow rebel mages surround her and surprisingly, some Wardens who seemed to recognize her and took seeing her on the other side as a good sign to switch.

“Inquisitor!” Fiona calls, but doesn’t turn from her task. “I’m relieved you’re alright.”

“And I you, Grand Enchanter!” Subira grins, sliding under a mage and slicing his ankle-tendons before pivoting on her heel and slamming her dagger into the back of his neck.

“Go to the Courtyard, we have this handled. The ritual is about to happen,” Fiona shouts, and then turns when Subira hesitates with a slightly lost look on her face. “Go!”

“We must hurry!” Solas calls urgently. “Our forces cannot stand against the demons for long.”

Subira takes off towards the Courtyard, nearly tripping down the large stone stairs and when she busts through the door she slows to a stop with wide eyes.

_So that’s what she felt._

A giant unopened rift, rippling and shimmering, sits in the middle of the Courtyard, dormant but just barely. But worse than that, demons line the area with Warden handlers and seem uneasy, hissing and angry with no shortage of them being summoned, Cassandra harshly tugging her behind her when a warrior is sacrificed and in its place, a demon claws itself into existence from where it’s summoned beyond the Veil.

Warden Commander Clarel is in the middle of a speech, to Magister Erimond’s dismay. She seems to ignore his growing frustration in favor of treating this with the seriousness she thought it deserved.

“Wardens! We are betrayed by the very world we are sworn to protect-!”

Erimond approaches, irritation clear in his voice. “The Inquisition is inside, Clarel. There’s no time to stand on ceremony-“

“It may be nothing to you in _Tevinter,_ Magister, but these men and women are giving their _lives._ To the Wardens, this is _sacred,”_ Clarel hisses to the impatient man.

Erimond spots them immediately and rushes to order the Wardens. “Stop them! We must complete the ritual!”

“Unfortunately, you’re the irrational fool you’ve _always_ been, Clarel,” Sidona shouts, the most emotive she’s been since she joined up with the Inquisition. Or, if the shocked look on Stroud’s face is any indication, ever.

 _“Commander Andras?”_ Clarel calls back in confusion. Wardens heads swivel back and forth between the two women much like watching a sparring match. “What are you doing here?!”

“You’re being _used, you-“_

Stroud yanks the Commander back. “Andras, _enough!”_ He turns to address his fellow Wardens. “You are being used! This ritual will not prevent future Blights. He’s going to destroy us!”

In a boost of courage, Subira steps forward. “Wardens, I am the Inquisitor! _Please,_ listen to us,” she begs, heart bleeding for these men and women. “I don’t want to see the Wardens fall. I know you don’t, either. Stand with us! Stand with the Inquisition against Corypheus!”

Murmurs spread through the crowd. Erimond angrily turns to Clarel. “You know what must be done, Clarel. Would you risk your _Order_ for the words of a _child?_ These people would say anything to shake your confidence!”

Subira’s eyes burn bright in anger. Clarel turns to study her for a moment, and she seems to find what she’s looking for, but ultimately she is not willing to take that chance as she shuts her eyes and mutters, “bring it through.”

As soon as the rift is ripped into the Veil, Subira screams out in immense pain. It’s haunting, horrific and a shrieking that claws itself from her throat until she can barely breathe.

Green lights up her entire forearm and it even shows through her glove, highlighting the horror and fear written across her face and many around her seem to realize just how young, human and vulnerable the Inquisitor really is, recoiling in vague horror. Her veins pulse as her heart thrums in reaction to the rift.

Clarel, a woman with some amount of sense, seems to realize what it’s doing to the girl and her expression goes from resigned to shocked.

Solas grabs the girl by her shoulders and pulls her into his chest, whispering short of frantic, but soothing, elvhen into her ears and trying to calm the mark to no avail. The pain does not pass, but eventually she’s able to move through it stiffly.

With tears clinging to her face and determination in her veins, she staggers away from Solas and stands tall, shoulders trembling.

With the attention of most of the Wardens on her, she yells hoarsely, “I _know_ the Grey Wardens have a proud history. You saved the world from the Blight not once, but five times! At Denerim! At Starkhaven! I could go on, but we don’t have time! I would not stand against you if I didn’t think there was a reason. Please, listen to me!”

Clarel’s face goes through multiple phases. Sidona opens her mouth to speak again, but Erimond interrupts. “We’ve come so far, Clarel! You know you’re the only one who can do this.”

“Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges,” she glances at the Inquisition, the Inquisitor, and then a bit longer at Sidona, “to avoid more bloodshed.”

His face twists up angrily and he turns away from the Commander. “Or _perhaps,_ I should bring in a more _reliable_ ally.”

With a spark of red energy, Erimond’s staff glows brightly and he slams it into the stone. “My Master suspected you might come, Inquisitor. Thankfully, he sent _this_ to welcome you!”

An ear-piercing, metallic screeching rings out and the sky goes black for a moment with a wide swooping sound. Her heart drops into her stomach as she’s reminded of Haven very briefly, watching lightning strike in the middle of the sky.

With an earth-shaking crash, the dragon lands on one of the towers and roars menacingly. Clarel backs away from Erimond in fear, seemingly realizing her mistake.

“Oh, _now_ you’ve done it, Clarel,” Sidona growls, seeming like a Mabari about to pounce on the woman.

“Save it for later, Andras!” Stroud snaps, holding the mage by the forearm.

With a furious look on her face, Clarel sends lightening directly into Erimond, knocking him off his feet and sending him sprawling.

Sidona and Stroud blink in surprise while Hawke cheers, sharing a grin with Varric.

Varric mutters under his breath _, “it’s about damn time.”_

Erimond grows nervous and tries to crawl away, “... Clarel, _wait-“_

“Help the Inquisitor!” Clarel orders tearfully, staring at her friend who lays dead on the stone.

Another large burst of electricity slams into the dragon this time, causing it to fly up and spit out angry red-lyrium tinged flames.

Erimond takes off up the stairs and Clarel shouts hateful things in Orlesian, gaining ground incredibly fast and practically tearing the stone from itself as she storms after him.

A pride demon pushes through onto the battlefield and Subira, in a burst of anger grabs the tear it entered through with all of her strength and shreds it open, immobilizing the demon, but also causing her immense pain.

Cassandra orders the Inquisition to arms, but there’s no need. Many rise to the task immediately, Stroud and Hawke working to inspire faith in the Wardens and encourage them to fight.

There is no time to check on her while fighting through demons and trying to get to the stairs. The Warden Spellbinders seem doubtful and hesitant, but some do not stop and are cut down ruthlessly by Hawke and Stroud, intent to get to the fleeing Magister and Warden.

“After her!” Sidona demands, an angry sneer on her face.

“Don’t have to tell us twice, Frosty,” Varric pants. The woman does not even stop at the nickname.

They make chase up the west of the battlements and Subira screams when the dragon breathes fire through the holes in the walkway. “Move!”

A shade snarls and bubbles up in front of her, and without thinking she shoulders through it and then twists around to tear her daggers into it and nearly cuts herself in the process, panting heavily.

“Keep going! I can hear them!” Hawke shouts, spitting blood to the side.

Finally making it up the last ramp, they see Clarel storming furiously towards Erimond, each spell she casts on him more crippling and painful than the last but unfortunately not hindering his smartass mouth.

“You _destroyed_ the Wardens!” She shouts, agony echoing in her voice.

“You did that yourself, you stupid bitch,” he sneers, and then coughs up blood. “All I had to do was dangle bloodmagic in front of you and-“

Clarel casts another spell that electrocutes him and subsequently shuts him up.

She turns, exhaustion evident on her face. _“Sidona,”_ she breathes, seeing a now hesitant looking Sidona Andras at the forefront of the group.

“Clarel,” the woman nods back awkwardly, coming forward.

And then the dragon drops down, snatching Clarel in its jaws.

A harrowed voice, belonging to Sidona, screams. Stroud and Hawke physically restrain the lithe, but powerful, mage as she struggles to get to Clarel, being toyed with by the dragon. Blood splatters the stone and grunting can be heard from the mage currently being used as a chew-toy.

The dragon spits her out and lands with a crash, Erimond finally standing and leaning on his staff. The Warden-Commander rips out of Hawke’s grip and stalks forward with fury in her eyes, frost spreading where she walks as she prepares to meet a charging dragon head on.

But Clarel twitches, and then moves, holding herself up on trembling arms. Varric swears, _“son of a nugs-“_

“In War, Victory,” she murmurs, looking at Sidona with tear-laden eyes.

A spell begins to build in her hands. “In Peace, Vigilance...”

“In Death, _Sacrifice.”_ She closes her eyes and presses her lips together tightly when she casts the spell, the dragon going down into the cavern with a screech.

“I’m sorry, Sidona,” Clarel mouths tearfully and then she rasps, “Good luck, Inquisitor.”

The woman lays herself down on the stone and waits for death. Sidona starts forward at a run and then the structure begins to shake and crumble.

“Andras!” Stroud yells fearfully, looking between her and safety. “We have to _go!”_

Sidona looks between him and Clarel. “I’m sorry, Stroud.”

She makes a dash for the woman and kneels by her side. Surprisingly, she’s still breathing.

“I’ve got you, Clarel,” she murmurs, putting her arm over her shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

“You... fool,” Clarel murmurs, blood on her lips.

“Yeah, yeah, tell me that later, will you?” Sidona mutters, struggling with the other mages practically dead weight.

Stupidly, Hawke runs to her other side and places her other arm around her shoulder.

And then the bridge begins collapsing behind them, and they forcefully begin to move forward, even as Clarel grimaces.

Solas and Cassandra notice the Inquisitor isn’t moving, watching the Wardens and Hawke. Varric stands frozen in fear.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra shouts, her voice cracking. “We must go!”

With glittering tears in her eyes, the Inquisitor turns from them. “I’m sorry. Solas has my letters.”

The girl darts out of the range of her outreaching hand and runs to Hawke, Sidona and Clarel. While conjuring the strongest barrier around them she can, she squeezes her eyes shut. Someone holds her shoulder in support and she thinks it’s Hawke, but she keeps her eyes shut.

_“Inquisitor!”_

_“Anita!”_

Their part of the bridge finally collapses and her friends fall with her. She desperately throws her hand up, only knowing that she doesn’t want them to die, green flashes illuminating the sky and then--

_Dark._


	56. Can You Be Forgiven When The Cold Grave Has Come?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adamant Part 2. Our Heroes traveled the Fade. Are they strong enough to come out on the other side of these truths new people? Is Subira?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. As much as I love this story, it might be the last update for a bit. I know that sounds really dramatic, but I don’t mean that long. I’m just at a really rough patch in my life right now - my chronic illness is acting up, my depression is spiraling and I have no motivation. I’m so sad all the time. I’m working on her story in the margins, but right now I’m trying to work through two advanced classes (one of which is more a college course) and one AP class while missing a lot of school and trying to graduate senior year still half-what decently and get into college and all that. Thank you so much for all of your unwavering support for this story, for Subira, for me. By the way: don’t feel pressured to say anything about all the stuff I wrote above! If anything, i’d Prefer you write to me about the story :). I only shared because I tend to overshare when I’m worried about letting people down. Again, thank you so much. At first I was apprehensive about ever posting her story but I’m so glad I chose to.  
> Warm regards,  
> sapphicwonder.

Her eyes snap open. The last thing she remembered is falling...

The world turns upside down - right side up? - and she nearly vomits. When the nausea and intense feeling of vertigo passes, she turns around to see Hawke and Stroud standing sideways on rocks, both looking rather confused, but the former far more fascinated than the latter.

“Oh, _fuck,”_ she swears solemnly, looking around her in disbelief. _“Chei, chei, chei!”_

Cassandra, in shock, doesn’t reprimand her this time.

Varric stares at her for a long time before saying, “Spitfire?”

_Hide it, little girl, lest the Templar’s get you. They’re a fate worse than us._

Subira growls. “Solas, what the fuck was that? Usually it’s Cole who does that. And where the hell are we? How do we get out?”

An internal voice that sounds like Grand Enchanter Fiona murmurs, _You must be careful with your magic._

The girl clenches her fists and teeth, seeming as if she wants to physically pull the words back into her.

“Where _are_ we, Chuckles?” Varric mutters, looking around the green landscape warily.

“I have a hypothesis, though I’m not sure yet,” Solas replies, sitting up from his position laying on the ground a few feet away. “Where is Cole?”

Wordlessly, she leads herself and Solas to Cole. Sidona desperately tries to save Clarel and Cole is by her side, doing everything he can to help - which isn’t much, but he’s trying.

“I can help,” she offers tentatively.

Sidona, for once, does not snap. “I do not know if it is too late,” she replies thickly, eyes red rimmed but no sign of tears.

Ever the one for timing, Clarel inhales shakily and then coughs.

_“Clarel!”_

Clarel smiles, though wryly, weakly. “You just never give up, do you, Andras?”

Sidona blushes brightly and looks away. “It’s been awhile. Some things never change.”

“That they don’t,” Clarel agrees, trying to sit up and coughing again.

“Careful!” Sidona scolds, holding the woman in one place.

“Here,” Subira says, carefully kneeling next to Clarel and offering some of her own mana to help speed up the healing process.

Clarel eyes her and then their surroundings and asks in a hoarse voice, “Where are we?”

Solas, standing behind them, answers her, a wistful expression on his face. “This is the raw Fade. No man has set foot here since the first Magisters. Look,” he points up, “the Black City, close enough to touch.”

Cole seems very nervous, his hands shaking in a strange way, but is in the process of helping Clarel and stays as calm as he can.

“I believe I can stand,” the woman announces with a wince, knowing she will not be doing much moving in her recovery once they escape. “Did my staff fall with us?”

Cole produces it with a flash. “It is the Fade,” he replies cryptically.

With an odd, cursory look towards him, she nods. “Uhm, my thanks.”

Sidona helps the other woman stand and lean half on her staff and half on her. “We’re ready to move forward now, Inquisitor.”

 _Not the Inquisitor. Not good enough, never good enough, just the little orphan girl-_ Her thoughts speak themselves, echoing and small.

“Okay, I’m shutting that shit down,” Subira snaps and shakes her head, trying to get her own thoughts out of her ears. Varric looks sad but not surprised.

“Let’s go. The Fade warps to reality, but...” she looks to Solas. “The Mark is pulling me this way.”

“Should we listen to it?” Hawke asks doubtfully, looking at the Anchor on her hand, so irritated that it glows brightly through her leather gloves.

“It’s the only option we have,” Subira shrugs.

Hawke thinks about that, and then agrees. “True enough.”

They continue forward in mostly tense silence. Cassandra does not look at her as the Inquisitor leads them. But then she veers to the right and comes across a small alcove, startled briefly by the fear she feels.

“A dreamer,” Solas murmurs, looking around curiously.

Cole shakes his head and clarifies, _“Lost_ dreamers.”

 _Find a light in the darkness_ , a voice murmurs, echoing in the space around them.

Carefully inspecting their surroundings, she finds a lit candle on a dish. When she passes her finger over the flame, no heat is given off. “Odd.”

When she places it upon the table, she feels a strange light fill her and her mana expands. Without meaning to, her magic conjures flowers and she reigns it back in.

“Is that safe?” Cassandra mutters to Solas. He sighs.

“It’s perfectly safe, Seeker. She is aiding the Fade, and so, it aids her,” he replies.

“Can we go now?” The girl snaps, looking towards the stairs. “It’s already going to be hard.”

No one questions her as they begin their journey up the stairs, waiting patiently for Sidona and Clarel to make it. Subira makes it to the top first and she stands there in shock, her mouth hanging open.

_“You...”_

The spirit - or ghost? - of Divine Justinia stands in front of her with a kind smile. “Hello, Inquisitor.”

Stroud and Hawke are the next to make it up the stairs. “Ah, greetings to you, Warden, Champion,” she greets politely.

They both, like Subira, stand in shock. Cassandra gasps when she crests over the top.

“Most Holy!”

“Cassandra,” the woman coos, much like an affectionate mother who hasn’t seen their child in a very long time.

Varric, Solas, Cole and the Warden-Commanders make it up the stairs last. Sidona stares before laughing under her breath about irony.

“Commanders,” she greets with just a bit of begrudging respect. “Varric Tethras,” she smirks and then, to his surprise, winks at the man.

And then she nods, “Compassion, Pride,” and finally turns back to the girl at the front, clearing her throat.

“So, you have made it back to where it all began,” the woman intones calmly.

“Divine Justinia...” Subira murmurs in a daze. “You’re _dead_. How are you-“

Cassandra shushes her gently, speaking in a tear thick voice. “They say that spirits may linger in the Fade before passing, but...”

“Does it matter if I am Divine Justinia?” It inquires rhetorically. “Whether I am her or I am not, I am here to help you. You wish to remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, yes?”

Subira nods automatically.

“Your memories were stolen from you by a powerful Fear Demon, commanded by Corypheus,” she informs her. “You must recover them to escape. But by doing so, you will alert the Nightmare to your presence. Are you prepared for this, Inquisitor?”

“I don’t know,” she replies in a hushed whisper.

Divine Justinia just smiles softly and disappears. Multiple shades appear in her place, apparently having been pushed off by her presence.

Hesitantly, they continue forward without their guide. No one speaks to her and she feels alone, stumbling over her bad knee often. And then they enter a clearing and a strangely familiar chuckling fills their ears.

“Ah, we have a _visitor,”_ it comments, as if it has just woken up from a light nap. Dread curls in her stomach like a lazy cat after a meal.

“Some silly little girl comes to steal the fear I _kindly_ lifted from her shoulders,” the voice rumbles with a patronizing lilt to it.

With a grunt, she continues on and shakes her head, absorbing the words into her as if they never happened.

“You should have thanked me and left the fear where it lay, forgotten,” the voice sneers. “You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel?”

_I have to keep going. If for nothing else, for the Inquisition. If not for me, for Thedas._

Her own internal voice, small and scared, rings out as an echo without her consent.

The voice growls, “the only one who grows stronger from your fear is _me._ But you are a _guest_ here in my home,” the demon chuckles. “So by all means, let me _return what you have forgotten.”_

“Fuck off, asswipe.”

Not the most creative use of the trade tongue, but it’ll work. She says nothing else as they continue forward.

“And you, Hawke,” the demon mocks, causing Subira to grit her teeth in annoyance and anger. “Do you think you mattered, Hawke? Do you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a _god?_

Hawke scoffs and rolls her eyes, and then the demon adds, “Isabela is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you’ve ever cared about.”

The woman growls, but clenches her jaw and unclenches it. “That’s going to grow tiresome rather quickly, I think.”

“It’s _already_ grown tiresome,” Sidona snaps as they walk the main path, following where the mark takes them.

“Oh, Commander Andras. How I’ve wanted to meet you. Tell me, how does the blood of your sister feel on your hands?”

“Bring her up one more time and you’ll see exactly what blood I can have on my hands,” Sidona retorts scathingly, the Fade becoming considerably colder and the waves in the sky-sea becoming choppy and dark.

The demon is quiet, the fury in Sidona’s reply evident.

“You know, for a demon, it isn’t too creative,” Varric mutters.

A skeleton lay on the ground with bright flowers next to it. Subira collects them in her hands gently, drawn to the one thing in the Fade that isn’t washed out and blurry.

A voice murmurs, _Find proof of survival._

Grasping the flowers in one hand and stalking forward, she places them in a vase before a silhouette. The same, weird light fills her and she feels steadier.

Up the stairs and down the path, Divine Justinia appears again. “The demon is aware of your intent to escape. Every moment you grow stronger.

“Those are your memories, child. Reclaim them, and you and your companions can escape,” the voice of Divine Justinia whispers.

She draws her blades and attacks the first demon with a harsh intensity that kickstarts the others. Her priority is getting to her memories, barely focused on the demons she’s tearing through to do so and she reaches for her memory as soon as she can. When her finger tips touch it, the world shutters into black.

_[Three and a half months before the Conclave, 9:41 Dragon. College of Magi, Cumberland, Nevarra.]_

“Are you sure you can pull this off?” Grand Enchanter Fiona asks worriedly, fidgeting with the girls armor and holding papers in her hand. “The Crows will not be happy-“

“I can do this, Grand Enchanter,” she replies confidently. “Don’t worry, mother,” she teases.

“I simply worry for you, Subira,” the woman sighs. “I will leave for the Conclave soon. You must go to the White Spire tonight. Do you have it?”

The girl removes a vial, a phylactery, from her pocket and grins mischievously. “Right here. I’ll destroy it once I’m out. These will get to them, don’t worry.”

Fiona doesn’t look any less worried but she nods and leans to kiss the top of her head. “Go, then,” she whispers. “Be quick and be safe, Subira.”

“Always am,” Subira replies, carefully leaving and tiptoeing into a storage room with a loose board in the floor that reveals a secret passage. Within minutes, she’s gone.

_[The memory changes, clearly not Cumberland any longer. A blonde girl with long hair and the Inquisitor break through the brush, slowing to a stop with their hands on their knees. A few weeks out of Jader, Orlais.]_

_“I think we outran them,” the other girl pants._

_“We wouldn’t have_ had _to if you hadn’t followed me,” Subira snaps at her angrily. “How did you even find me? I figured they’d assume I was dead.”_

_“Breaking away for months? The Crows were going insane looking for answers,” the unnamed girl replies in a dark tone. “You were supposed to kill her, idiot.”_

_“Yeah, well... things change, Arianne,” Subira sneers sarcastically. “Not all of us want to be stuck working for them for their entire lives.”_

_“That’s rich,” Arianne sneers, stomping closer into the other girl’s face. “What happened to ‘_ we can do it if we have each other?’”

 _Subira’s face fills with rage. “You held me_ down-“

 _“-It was my_ duty! _I would’ve gotten_ worse _if I refused-“_

 _“-You_ never _cared-“_

 _“-How_ dare _you!-“_

_Both are interrupted by loud noises coming from the trees and they go ashen._

_“Commander! We Found them!” A deep, threatening voice calls. Dogs bark nearby._

_There’s no time for them to run. Surrounded by Templar’s, suddenly they’re both grabbed and they each struggle, hissing and spitting like feral cats.  
_

_And then she must watch Arianne’s blood be spilled onto the grass once again._

_“A run away mage,” the Templar holding her mutters into her ear, holding her tightly and she whimpers in fear. “Do you know what we do with those, girl?”_

Subira comes back to herself with a gasp, looking up at the raging sea-sky. Her companions murmur to themselves behind her and the rest of the Shades are dead.

“There are still memories to recover,” Divine Justinia murmurs. “But we must move on. They are guarded by demons, and the Nightmare will know of your presence now.”

* * *

Spiders descend from the walls and attack, but they’re not...

 _“Mages... Templar’s... The Blight,”_ the voice booms. “All the fears of Thedas come to me. You will not escape, just as they have not.”

“That’s what you think,” she grunts, wincing when one dies with an ear-piercing squeal.

Two paths lay in front of her. To the right, an effigy of a burning man sits and she approaches it even as her companions groan behind her, convinced she should just let it be.

A rage demon pops out of nothing - reminding her that the Fade is still unpredictable - and she panics, freezing it in ice and then shattering it with her dagger.

“Good job,” Solas murmurs with a touch of pride.

Varric mutters, “I don’t know if I’m going to get used to that.”

“Ah, Solas...” the demon laughs mockingly. _“Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din.”_

Solas freezes and then snarls back, _“Banal nadas.”_

 _Nothing is inevitable,_ she translates. What the demon said she’s not entirely sure at the moment, but it seems to upset Solas. She grabs onto his chilly hand and squeezes gently, surprised by the squeeze he gives back.

As they carefully walk forward on the path, another mirror appears. “These mirrors are really common,” she comments quietly, tracing the mirror frame with her finger.

“Eluvians,” Solas informs her. He goes to tap the glass experimentally, and then...

A demon made of fire and rage appears with wraths to accompany it, screaming and growling and dripping molten ichor onto the Fade ground. With the sheer amount of people in their group, they’re taken care of rather quickly and the only remnants are on their weapons.

“Does it haunt you, Sidona?” The demon needles at her again. “The lives you’ve had to sacrifice? The life you never lived?”

 _“Nuva vher av ma, i banalhan av vher,”_ the Warden sneers, surprisingly fluent in the Elvhen tongue.

The Nightmare laughs quietly, but it’s uneasy. It seems that the Commander is a force to be reckoned with.

“What did you say to it?” Clarel whispers.

“She wished that a cat may eat it, and then the Blight take the cat,” Solas replies immediately.

“I can answer for myself, knife ear,” the woman snaps sourly, any calm demeanor wiped away by the time spent in the Fade.

Subira pivots on her heel. “Do _not_ call him that,” she seethes lowly, the sky above them churning in response. The sky-sea splits and crashes together. “You are just as much an elf as he is, whether from a Clan, a City, a Circle, or an Apostate. You would do well to remember who fucking protected you from the other Wardens, because that was the Inquisition.”

The demon chuckles menacingly, but says nothing. The silence left behind is enough.

Sidona blinks, and Clarel pats her arm. “She’s just shocked. We may move on.”

The group turns around back towards the first path. Now the demon goes after Varric with his taunting.

“Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought Hawke here, and now the child you wish to protect is in danger.”

“Keep talking, Smiley,” Varric mutters with a self deprecating laugh at the end.

The Spirit of Divine Justinia appears before them once again, her bright light a beacon and scaring away the worse spirits. “The rest of your memories are ahead, child. Defeat the demons and they are yours.”

Multiple people call out to her in alarm when she rushes ahead, and the Spirit itself seems a bit... shocked, but it’s hard to tell. Her fighting style is erratic and angry and incredibly frustrated, tearing through demons to get to her own memories. Covered in blood and sweat and demon ichor, she barely registers when the fight is over, only that her hand is outstretched-

_[About a month after the events at the College of Magi and a month before the Conclave, 9:41 Dragon. White Spire, Orlais.]_

_She is sneaking around in a messy looking office. Her papers have already been dropped off where they need to be, but someone tipped her that she should check the Lord Seeker’s temporary lodgings._

_“The Rite...” she murmurs, eyes widening. A feeling of absolute dread grips her core and her mouth goes dry. “Oh, no.”_

_Gathering as many as she can, she prepares to leave the office, when the door bangs open to reveal Lord Seeker Lambert himself._

_“You!” He barks angrily. “What are you d-“_

_He falls to his knees, holding his side. Crimson pours out of him and stains the white shirt he wore under light armor. Behind him, is..._

Cole?

_“Who are you?” She asks fearfully, stepping backwards. The boy - because what else can he be? - is skinny and clearly malnourished, almost ghostly in appearance and his clothes are torn and ripped._

_“I am...” he trails off, looking to the ground, floppy hat obscuring his eyes. “Do not worry. You will not remember me. But they will remember what he did. Give me those papers, and flee. Go!”_

_Without thinking, Subira hands him the papers and bolts, escaping the White Spire with her life._

_That same day, the riots begin and Lord Seeker Lambert is found dead. His cause of death? Sloppily trying to cover up that the Seekers invented the Rite of Tranquility._

_And it’s reversal._

With heavy breaths, she startles back to herself. “Cole?”

He ducks his head. “I did not know who I was then. It was easier to make you forget.”

“There are more, child. Complete your memories,” Justinia guides her towards them calmly, allowing the girl to take her time.

_[The Conclave, Haven, 9:41 Dragon.]_

_She has just parted ways with Castelleta, who is going to regroup with their friends and continue aiding the Mages. Carefully she picks through the Temple of Sacred Ashes, every covert operation she’s had to take part in preparing her for this._

_And then she hears it._

_“_ Why you of all people?!”

_Subira rushes towards the sound, knowing it to be the Divine and... she doesn’t know why. She remembers thinking she should find the Right Hand. And when she kicks the door open, it’s..._

Wardens, _restraining the Divine. Corypheus stands before the fearful woman, holding a green orb._

 **“Now is the hour of our victory.”** _He declares, staring hungrily into the orb while the Divine struggles._

_“Help me! Somebody!”_

_“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” She shouts, shaking. Her mana gathers in her chest as she prepares to take on this giant thing._

**“Kill the halfling,”** the monster growls.

 _“Run, child! Warn them!”_ Justinia shouts desperately, selflessly.

 _Corypheus turns his attention to the shaking child in front of the door, scared and tense. Her mind says_ run _but her body won’t move and she’s watching the Divine with terrified eyes and for once she doesn’t know what to do. Corypheus narrows his gaze on her._

_In his lack of focus, the Divine manages to kick the orb out of his hands and it rolls right to Subira. She grabs it without thinking, her only intent to get it away from him, but screams in pain and drops it as if it branded her._

_[Flashing through her mind at the speed of light, she watches herself wake up in the Fade for the first time surrounded by spiders, stumbling towards the Divine’s outstretched hand. And then when they’re about to escape together...]_

With a snap, she comes back to herself, closing her eyes to block out any motion. “You... you aren’t her,” she murmurs. “You... _She_ sacrificed herself for me.”

“So Andraste didn’t bestow her mark upon you, it came from the orb Corypheus used in that ritual,” Stroud comments wisely, causing at least three different people to glare at him.

Subira scowls. “I never claimed that she did! I’ve rejected that title every step of the way! I didn’t want it, especially not if it came with her death!”

Unknowingly, there are tears running down her face. The Spirit of the Divine reaches out to wipe them off of her cheeks.

“Hush, now,” the Spirit soothes, and then turns to Stroud. “Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the anchor to enter the Fade and throw open the doors of the Black City. Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. When she disrupted the ritual, the Orb bestowed it upon her instead.”

Subira looks discomfited and the Spirit once again shushes her. “Her sacrifice was not in vain, as you may think,” the spirit speaks bluntly and kindly. “The Divine could feel the potential in you, child. You are going to do wonderful things. You already have. And yes, it is true. I embody Justinia because I admired her kindness, her boldness, her courage. I am sorry if this disappoints you.”

Subira sniffles and wipes her nose on her sleeve. “Thank you, actually. You are very kind.”

The Spirit smiles softly and steps back. “We must continue,” the spirit says after a few moments. “The demon will not wait for long. I will clear the path ahead.”

Subira approaches a cauldron sitting in the corner and inspects it curiously.

_Find a way to destroy destiny._

Cole appears next to her, holding a tarot card out to her.

“Thank you, Cole,” she smiles, but he barely smiles back. His floppy hat obscures his vision.

The Fear chuckles deeply. “Are you _afraid,_ Cole? I can help you forget. Just like you help other people. We’re so very much alike, you and I.”

After a moment of silence, Cole quietly replies, “No. We are nothing alike.”

After a moment, she places the card into the cauldron. She feels invigorated and strong afterwards, immediately rushing to catch up with the rest of the group.

Hawke and Stroud argue like hens. “Is there a problem, Hawke?”

“Trying to ignore the Grey Wardens holding the Divine in that vision? Their actions led to her death.” Hawke mutters bitterly.

Stroud scowls at her. “Corypheus clearly had taken the Wardens minds, you yourself have seen him do this. In any case, we can talk about holding the Wardens accountable after we escape.”

“Oh, I expect them to be,” Hawke spits back.

Clarel sighs. “We will not go unpunished, Messere Hawke, do not worry. We are not without blame.”

Hawke seems surprised and Stroud sputters, but Sidona holds up a hand. “Do not question two of your superior officers, Stroud.”

The man wisely shuts up and falls back into line, with Hawke smirking smugly.

Something doesn’t feel right. They’ve been walking for too long without anything attacking them, but the temperature is suddenly freezing. The familiar scuttling sound of the Fearlings moving around them isn’t what startles her.

What startles her is when they attack the group, they now appear as her fears - the decaying bodies of her companions, rotting and wounds ripped and full of pus. An ear splitting scream is heard - and then she realizes it’s her own voice, like it’s being ripped from her physically with rope out of her body - watching them stumble towards her. She can’t kill them, she can’t-

Sidona drags the child up from her knees. “You must keep going. You _must,”_ she hisses, pushing her forward. “Fight through what you see.”

Crying, Subira fights off the fearlings, her hands shaking with every kill she makes. And when it’s finally over, she vomits until she can’t anymore, shaking and heaving. Cole holds her hair back for her before anyone else can, murmuring soft words of comfort.

“Is she ready to move on yet?” Sidona asks rather loudly. Clarel scolds her for her insensitivity and the woman shrugs.

Subira waves it off, pushing to her feet. “I’m fine. Let’s move on.”

Ahead, the Spirit is being accosted by the Fearlings, with forms taking place as soon as they notice the new arrivals. But Subira does not even blink twice, now; her eyes may be red-rimmed and dry, but no tears fall. Her hands are surprisingly steady as they dispatch of the Fearlings and continue forward until they find a split in the path.

“Which way?” Hawke inquires, scratching the back of her neck.

Subira tilts her head. “North,” she answers, going up the higher path.

“Oh, nice pick, kid,” Hawke comments with false cheer, noting the two pride demons.

In frustration, the girl simply throws her arms up in the air. And then she recklessly throws herself into battle with the demons, which in turn encourages everyone - save Clarel, who stays back leaning on her staff for every fight - to jump in as well. Between the eight of them, two pride demons is nothing, though they’re all just a little bit more worn down by the end of it. The whole ordeal is exhausting.

“Let’s take the other path now,” Hawke suggests, cleaning off her gauntlets.

Subira approaches a teddy bear laying haphazardly on the ground back where the path started and she grabs it gingerly, brushing it off. Several steps towards the East, she recalls a bed...

Ignoring the confused questions, she continues passed her companions. When she approaches the bed, a child’s voice says:

_Find a way to keep the monsters away._

With a strangely sentimental touch, she places the teddy bear on the bed and steps back.

“I hope you find better dreams,” she murmurs, dragging her fingertips across the comforter.

And then she turns back down the path to the South, feeling through the mark to get around. The minute she steps past a certain point demons launch themselves at her and she snarls back at them almost like an animal and finds herself wondering when she started doing that, but is too tired to care. She’s exhausted and angry and if she wants to snarl when something gets too close to her then by Andraste - _oh, that may not be in great taste, huh?_ \- then who’s to say she can’t?

Darkspawn in the same area surround one of those Eluvians and they can’t get out without going past them. Oh, well.

The Wardens deal with the Darkspawn, not wanting any of the others to risk getting Darkspawn blood on them in the raw Fade, unsure of what the consequences of such a thing would be and not willing to find out.

“Do you really think you can fight me?” The Nightmare laughs menacingly. “I am the veiled hand of _Corypheus himself._ I am your every fear come to life! The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound to me.”

The Spirit quips, “Ah, so if we banish you we banish the demons. Thank you, _every-fear-come-to-life.”_

The Nightmare growls in frustration while Subira feels a small smile grow on her face. Soon they’re able to move on, the Wardens covered in Darkspawn blood but no worse for wear.

Our wearied and battle-worn warriors continue on to where the paths reunite. The Spirit waits there for them calmly, turning to greet them. And then she calls out a warning.

A pride demon and despair demon respectively command multiple Fearlings and Wraiths that surround them. For several minutes they fight a painstakingly uphill battle until Subira decides she’s had enough.

“Solas, give me the staff.”

The man himself, busy casting spells, furrows his brow, thinking back to a month prior when she had handed it to him. “Inquisitor-“

“Just give me the damn staff, Solas!”

He looks between her and their enemies and he passes her the staff quickly.

“Hey!” Clarel calls from the sidelines of the battle. Solas looks to her and she tosses him her staff, shakily standing on her own.

He nods his thanks and tries to adjust as speedily as possible to the new fit, casting immediately.

Closing her eyes, she takes deep breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth until the din of the battle passes and her mind is clear. The magic is inside her, boiling and seething and ready and she lashes out, the first lightning strike coming down in a bright, explosive flash of green and obliterating multiple Wraiths.

When the Fearlings get too close to her for comfort, she dodges their attacks and redirects the energy, using the staff as a central point and stabbing one with the pointed end. It dies with loud, pig-like squealing and resumes it’s spider form.

The battle dies out eventually, but something touches her shoulder and she jumps, about to run it through with the staff and blanching.

Hawke blinks. “Are you doing okay so far?”

“I’m fine.” She answers, staring at the Black City above them, while the sky-sea rages on in an almost exact replica of so many dreams that she’s had.

The Ferelden-born Free Marcher gives her a disbelieving look, but the Spirit has reappeared. “You are almost to the original rift you entered through. To get there you must fight the Nightmare, and it will not be easy. You must close the rift behind you. And most importantly,” she looks directly at Subira, her tone becoming softer, _“you mustn’t look back.”_

Swallowing hard, she nods, even though she’s unsure as of what she just agreed to. The sky churns and seethes and spits as they get closer to the rift and consequently, where the Nightmare resides. But they have one stop before that.

Their graveyard.

Before they can get closer, thick, foggy smoke surrounds them all. It’s grey and storms rage in between the puffs. It’s loud and disorienting. One second Cassandra was fighting to get to her side, and the next...

Where is everyone?

_... Subira..._

A warm, slightly familiar voice calls from a far away place. She hesitantly steps forward, wanting to hear more.

_... Subira, I’m here..._

Her gasp can barely be contained. As the smoke clears, a blurry image of her mother, glowing and smiling, appears. It’s hard to see her through the sparkling and Subira squints, trying to see her.

“Mama?” She murmurs haltingly.

 _“Yes, baby,”_ the voice murmurs, returning blurry memories of her mother’s voice to her head.

“No,” she hisses, startling backwards. The image begins to sharpen into what it really is; a hungry desire demon with sharp claws and teeth.

“She never called me baby,” Subira says through tears. “And she most certainly never, ever planned on coming back!”

With a yell, she attacks the demon, but it’s gone. Her breaths are stuttering and she’s twisting each and every way. Different memories appear in every direction she looks:

_One direction shows: held to a table by her colleague, Arianne, as their mentor leaves carving mark’s in Subira’s stomach. The girl screams and screams, twisting and writhing through the initiation process and Arianne’s eyes are screwed shut. One particularly harsh thrash causes his knife to slip and suddenly there’s dark blood pouring out of her and they’re sewing her up, Arianne apologizing profusely as she passed out from pain._

_Another is darkness, the whimpering voice of a younger Subira begging to be let out of the dark, banging on something wooden. Her screaming continues until her voice is hoarse and peters off into whining._

She screams, pressing her hands over her ears and crying. Her sobs become whimpers as she trembles on the ground. A gauntleted hand touches her shoulder and she wails, disoriented, “please! No more!”

The hand retracts as if Subira had burned it and she blinks her eyes open, seeing Cassandra come into view, fairly concerned. Cole is angrily slamming his dagger into an already dead desire demon some ways away, Varric and Solas trying to comfort him and encourage him to back off.

Cassandra has a truly devastated look on her face, absolutely crumbling even as she tries to reign it in.

“So... _Subira...”_ Cassandra says quietly, reaching out a hand to her again. “I-“

Subira flinches as if the woman had raised her hand to her at her name. Wordlessly she accepts the hand and gets shakily to her feet, feeling every nerve inside of her trembling.

“We have to keep going,” she mutters tonelessly, dropping the Seeker’s hand as quickly as she grabbed it.

Finally continuing out of the fog, the Graveyard they had seen before appears before them.

The headstones bear each of her companions names and something next to them.

_Cassandra. Helplessness._

_Varric. Becoming his parents._

_Solas. Dying alone._

_Cole. Despair._

_Dorian. Temptation._

_Hawke. Failure._

_Stroud. Inaction._

_Sidona. Imperfection._

_Clarel. Losing._

Somewhere in her mind she realizes that these are what they’re afraid of. With a pit of dread in her stomach she searches until she finds her own. Carved cruelly into the stone and looking faded and forgotten, her headstone reads:

_Subira. Dying unloved._

Next to hers is Castelleta, Michalis and Herah’s headstones. Each have a different fear:

_Instability._

_What hides in the dark._

_Becoming mindless._

While searching the graves, something catches her eye and the she brushes dust off to read the label. “Archdemon blood?”

Approaching her side, Cole takes her hand in his cold one and leads her out of the graveyard quietly, even as she feels the overbearing presence of the Nightmare around her. The others follow curiously.

When they arrive at the table, they hear:

_Find a way to slay the Archdemon._

With Cole’s expectant gaze she places it on the table and the familiar warm light fills her. They continue on, each shaken by the graveyard. Hawke tries to lay a hand on her arm but she rips it away.

Next to them, there is a small pathway. Subira goes down it without a second thought.

In front of her is an intact mirror with two elvhen bodies laying in front of it, dead. Shattered glass surrounds them as if the mirror was once broken, or perhaps had the potential to be. Solas flinches.

“Your Inquisitor is a _fraud,_ Cassandra. Yet more evidence there is no Maker, that all your ‘faith’ has been for naught.“ the Nightmare taunts. “She has lied for months about her true identity - don’t you value honesty?”

The Seeker sourly snaps back, “die in the void, demon.”

Briefly, Subira looks at Cassandra in mild surprise before she reaches out to touch the mirror. Solas panics and tries to stop her, but all that happens is a warm light engulfing her body again.

“Let’s keep going,” she mutters and turns around back where they came from.

On the way, she feels a tug in her. And hidden just for her is...

An archmage ice staff.

For several moments she kneels, staring at it with pursed lips. And then she hands it to Solas to harness to his back and he complies without questioning her now.

Around the bend, the Nightmare awaits them. Varric mutters something to Hawke about just challenging the Old Gods, but she’s barely paying attention. The spindly legs shift and scuttle and dozens of eyes peer down at her. She’s nauseous and scared all at once.

Without warning, the Spirit pushes past them with only one request:

“If you would, please tell Leliana, _‘I am sorry. I failed you, too.’”_

The Spirit, in a burst of bright light, throws herself at the Nightmare and subdues it, but obliterates herself in the process, subsequently breaking Subira’s heart just a little bit. Behind her, she hears Cassandra sniffle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chei, chei, chei - fuck, fuck, fuck in Rivaini (Igbo)  
> ELVHEN TRANSLATION FROM PROJECT: ELVHEN, BY FENXSHIRAL! They properly translated the bit between the Fear Demon and Solas.  
> Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din.  
> "Speak rebel! You care for nothing but victory. Your pride will be your death."  
> and Solas:  
> Banal nadas.  
> "Nothing is inevitable"  
> Also, Sidona says:  
> Nuva vher av ma, i banalhan av vher.  
> "May the cat eat you, and the blight eat the cat."


	57. You’ll Never Get to Heaven on a Night Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories Post-Adamant. *devil emoji* We're getting there! Gonna be working hard since it's NaNoWrimo! Expect lots of content :3 Especially this weekend, I hope to get a lot out. Let this be a taste of the other chapters to come *wink wink*. Blessed Samhain and I hope everyone had a lovely Halloween!

If someone asked her how she got to this point, she couldn’t tell them. All she remembers is...

Wait, back up. What _does_ she remember?

_The memories, though foggy, are there. How could she forget the oppressive humidity in the Lair of the Nightmare? They fought the Nightmare for what felt like hours. Her daggers were eventually knocked from her hands and she was prepared to brawl with the beasts like a feral animal, but Solas rushed to her rescue with the staff she had gifted him but a month previous. He pushed the smooth wood into her hands and steadied her into battle._

_Nothing seemed to take it down, no matter how hard they fought or how much blood they spilled. The demon used every trick, game and advantage it had against the mortals walking physically in its home._

_Eventually, in a crazed anger, it was Sidona who struck it down with white, icy-hot lightning that left permafrost on the ground. Panting, they made a break for the rift._

_Subira pushed everyone through, even as they fought her. Cassandra had no time to make her go with her as she was helping Clarel stumble along, both breathless and one severely injured. Varric protested but could do little else as the momentum made him trip through. Solas refused to budge initially, insisting she come with him._

_“Solas...” she gave him pleading eyes and tugged on his sleeve. “I’ll be right behind you.”_

_His sharp eyes narrowed as her heart sped up, but her expression hardened._

_“I’ll distract it,” she said distantly, her heart already made up and looking towards the Nightmare, other hand tightening on the scuffed staff. “Go! I’ll be right behind you. I promise!”_

_Begrudgingly, with a look towards the others waiting, he went through._

_Subira then turns to wave Hawke, Sidona and Stroud through, but they slide to a stop and she tilts her head before Hawke yanked her out of the way, hearing a large, sharp leg land where she had been standing._

_Hawke pressed her lips together, a regret deep in her eyes that she seemed so ready to absolve herself of - whether it was Kirkwall, or the Conclave, or Anders, or thinking of her lover, Subira could not tell. “Go, I’ll clear a path.”_

_Subira protested immediately, sparks flying off of her and she flinched backwards, afraid to hurt Hawke. “No, I won’t let you do that to yourself. You’ve given so much! You’ve paid your dues!”_

_Sidona scoffed, eyes narrowed. “If it were to be anyone, it should be me. The Wardens should repay-“_

_“There should be Wardens left to guide them back from this!” Hawke had hissed, her eyes bright and full of the infamous fire she was known for._

_Subira shook her head, undeterred._ “Go, _or none of us will make it out of here!”_

_Hawke had immediately disagreed, as is in her opposing nature. The tendency to take responsibility for things that should not fall on to her shoulders shined through clearly. “I’m not leaving without you-“_

“Ọ bụghị otu nhọrọ!” _Subira barked, her native tongue thick and almost foreign to herself after not having to use it on a consistent basis in nearly a full year. “You have to go! Sidona, Stroud, you have to go!”_

_Sidona looked between the Inquisitor, Hawke and Stroud. With a bit of regret in her eyes, she seemed to quickly make the decision for them all, grabbing Stroud and Hawke’s wrists - one in each hand - and began running despite their protests. They struggled against her grip and dragged their feet, but she was evidently stronger than she looked._

_“And most importantly,” the Divine had said, a clear weariness in her eyes that such a kind spirit should never wear, “you mustn’t look back.”_

_As the Nightmare closed in on Subira, electric green energy began to surround her. Sparks and arcs of lightning radiated off of her and a ring of fire sprung up around herself._

_Right as they reached the rift, Hawke turned her head to see a Fearling attempt to tackle the girl from behind and miss as she pivoted and slammed it with the staff, stunning it. The Nightmare got closer in the interim, a deeply unsettling chuckling coming from it._

“No!” _Marian cried in anguish, watching the demon get closer to the girl._

_Sidona shoved the woman through, shouting indeterminable curses as she went. Her and Stroud shared a determined look._

_But then, Stroud smiled sadly, apologetically. “I’m sorry, Andras.”_

_Before she could’ve asked for what, she was shoved roughly backwards through the rift._

_Stroud ran back towards Subira, her spell becoming larger and larger. Tears ran down her cheeks and the words became harder to say._

“Let the blade pass through the flesh,” _she chanted, slicing off one of the Nightmares weird tentacles with the end of the staff._

“Let my blood touch the ground

Let my cries touch their hearts,” _she panted, tears dripping from her cheeks to the Fade ground and back upwards. Without missing a beat she twisted around to avoid getting hit and casted fire into one of its eyes, punctuated by a loud shrieking._

 _“_ Let mine be the last sacrifice!” _She snarled, creating an electrical barrier around her and staring hatefully at the Nightmare, shooting fire at it. Her arms are spread wide before it._

_Stroud fought relentlessly through hordes of those scuttling monstrosities - how many, he couldn’t say - to get to the Inquisitor. By now, she was breathing heavily and lagging, but not giving up. With her mouth full of blood, she grins up at the Nightmare and vanishes, reappearing underneath one of its blind spots and removing a small dirk from somewhere on her person. An ear piercing howl followed the enchanted flame that ripped through the underneath of the Nightmare._

“Though darkness closes, 

I am shielded by flame-“

_Her dirk became too hot to hold and got stuck in the demon, so she relinquished it with a wince._

_The Inquisitor threw burning hot fire at the demon and it squealed and hissed. She twirled and dodged the large legs._

“Andraste,

Guide me!”

_She hacked and coughed up a glob of phlegm and blood, using the end of the staff to slice off one of the appendages._

_Her hands came together briefly on each side of the staff and with her hair having fallen out of its ties and flowing behind her, she looks like another Andraste come to be painted on her pyre with a sword of flame. Only she was a direct juxtaposition of the reverence and claim to duty that Andraste’s face so often wears; her face full of despair, pinched up and agonized, choking down sobs and gritting her teeth._

_Loudly she prayed, eyes closed tightly and thick tears making their way through grime, blood, and ichor._

“Maker, 

Take me to your side!”

_Her breathing is labored and it’s clear from the strain on her face that she couldn’t go like this much longer. The Nightmare took advantage of this and suddenly she’s kneeling on the ground with blood dripping out of her, dazed and confused._

_“I’m sorry,” she murmured, looking up at the disgusting creature that will kill her._

_Finally, the Warden got to her, and not a moment too soon. Stroud threw her over his shoulder and took off towards the rift, dodging the Nightmare just barely. Pacing in front of the rift was a large white wolf with six green eyes and a large, bushy tail. It seemed agitated, pacing and sniffing with every hair standing on end. Looking for something - no,_ someone. _It stared at the girl over his shoulder intently when he approached, ears attentive and he instinctively knew what it wanted, what it was here for, and that it would protect her._

_“I wish you the best, Inquisitor,” he had said sincerely, even as she weakly fought his grip and went in and out of consciousness._

_He shared an oddly sentient nod with the large animal - spirit? The wolf tilted its head and picked the girl up between its jaws so, so gently, like the most fragile and precious glass, and then they were gone, leaping through the rift._

_Shortly after, the rift closed behind them and he swallowed hard, sending up his prayers to the Maker._

_He turned to the Nightmare, severely damaged from Subira but still a gruesome sight to see. “Now, it’s just us.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations!  
> Rivaini/Igbo  
> “Ọ bụghị otu nhọrọ!” - "not an option!"
> 
> Also, the verse from the Chant of Light is the Canticle of Andraste 7:12, but I'll put it in full order with no skips here:  
> Let the blade pass through the flesh,  
> Let my blood touch the ground,  
> Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.
> 
> And the other prayer Subira says is from Leliana in the Redcliffe Future! Just wanted to make sure I properly credited Bioware.


	58. Close the Curtains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira finally wakes up and gets a re-cap on what happened Post-Fade, and then some quality time with her companions.

After falling out of the rift, she has no idea what happened. Her brain is a bit foggy. And where are they? How long has she been asleep? Her body feels weak in a way that she hasn’t been since her bout of pneumonia after Haven... except this feels... different. Daunting.

Certainly they’re not in the desert, not with fine sheets and comfortable bedding... is that Madame de Fer’s perfume she smells? It isn’t improbable, but still, strange...

Ugh, her head feels terrible. And are her ribs bandaged? Shit, she’s gotta stop messing up her torso. When she tries to move her right leg, she hisses and puts it back down immediately, overwhelmed by the burning pain. She wonders where they are, still stuck in that drowsy half-asleep stage, most colors blurry and most shapes fuzzy.

Soon, a familiar bald elf enters the room rather auspiciously and closes the door silently behind him. Weary and worn, his hand rubs the wolf-jaw bone around his neck absently as he approaches the bed. Then, he says something curious:

His eyes sad and full of strange melancholy but a humorless smile on the edges of his lips - it’s odd to see him through this lense, she thinks vaguely, eyelids barely open - he says with only a small hint of humor to his voice, “May the Dread Wolf lead you peacefully in the land of dreams.”

Blinking slowly, her eyelashes feel stuck together. With lack of use, her mouth can barely form the words, but she tries her best. It feels as if seafoam got stuck in her mouth and throat.

But when she opens her eyes fully, he’s gone. The lighting is different and her bedding is, too. _What?_

Her fingers are having difficulty responding to her commands, probably a result of nerve damage - _ugh, she does listen to Solas ramble too much._

Someone does enter the room, but in her confusion she doesn’t realize it until they’re peering down at her in relief.

“Hey, kid. Welcome back.”

She frowns, trying to think through fuzzy memories. “From?”

The figure, she realizes to be Dalish, also frowns now. “Have you not been dreaming this whole time? Not at all?”

Suddenly she realizes that she doesn’t know. She has no idea how long it’s been. Her only point of reference was when Stroud brought her to the rift, anything after that is blurry and unreliable. She thought it was just a day, a couple of days at most, but...

“Don’t... think so,” she manages.

Subira shook her head, beginning to feel and think easier now. A chill passes over her and she reaches up to adjust her hair, immediately shooting upwards and disregarding the onset of extreme dizziness this caused her as she did so.

Even as Dalish pushes her back down in a bit of a frantic manner, in an attempt to keep her from injuring herself further, she struggles to get out, “my hair!”

“Sorry kid, they don’t really know what happened to your hair,” she informs her with a bit of a wince. “When you came through, it was falling out, apparently. By the time we were traveling, it had all fallen. We think it was a side effect of entering the Fade.”

“It just... fell out?” She asks in dismay, running her hand over her now bald head, surprisingly with bristles of hair already growing. 

She kind of liked the feeling, now that shes run her hand over it a few times. It was just a shock at first.

“Dalish?” She hums. “Where are we?”

“Madame Vivienne’s Estate in Val Royeaux,” she replies, and she winces reflexively at the following outburst.

“What?!”

“Kid, you’ve been asleep for nearly a month and a half,” Dalish says tentatively, tapping on the top of her hand gently to help her refocus, but it feels like rain drops on cold, numbed skin to her.

Staring at the wall, she seems to disconnect from herself. Her body and skin double in front of her eyes but she blinks slowly at it. A month and a half? And she didn’t visit the Fade at all?

Dalish finally engulfs the girl in a hug, pulling back after a few long moments. The sudden, grounding contact helps bring her back to herself and feeling rushed into her limbs. The breath of air she takes is like she’s a newborn calf and it’s her first.

“How many are here?” Subira’s voice is still hoarse from disuse but easier to manage and work through. 

Dalish helpfully pours her water from a nearby porcelain jug and helps her drink it carefully, even as she spills much of it on her cheeks and down her chin.

“Cassandra returned to Skyhold to assist early on - but I suspect she left because if she stayed, Madame de Fer would’ve thrown her out anyway. Lady Montilyet made the trip out - on horseback. It took her multiple horses and little rest, but she made it. She rode those horses as hard as they could go,” Dalish whistles lowly, leaning back on her heels. “Solas stayed the first few nights, but they thought iit was better that he didn’t stay. He and Cole searched for you in the Fade, but it was like you vanished.

“Sister Nightingale was also going to make the trip, but we advised her to stay behind. Madame Vivienne is here, obviously, and Sera returned with Blackwall and Bull - after a lot of convincing. Varric, of course, is here. Dorian as well. Let’s see... Grand Enchanter Fiona sent her mages back, but is staying on the other side of the Estate.”

“That’s a lot of people,” she replies after a few moments, eyes hazy and pain in many places of her body.

“Ana,” Dalish breathes after many heart beats, “What happened?”

“Don’t call me that,” Subira says instead, looking steadfastly at the floor.

“Why?” Dalish demands. “I don’t know you by anything else. I don’t know who Subira is.”

She flinches again but says nothing, only infuriating Dalish more. “Why aren’t you saying anything?!”

“Because I deserve it!” Subira yells, finally, and then turns away. Shock is written all over Dalish’s face, vallaslin curved and contorted slightly. “Because I deserve it,” she repeats again, quieter and resigned. “I lied. I basically helped incite the Rebellion. I didn’t tell anyone I worked for the Crows. I know I deserve it.”

Dalish’s face softens and pulls Subira in for a fierce hug. “Oh, sweetness,” she murmurs, her heart broken in many pieces for her. “Oh, Subira,” as she says the name for the first time ever, she says it with absolute fondness. 

Subira begins sobbing in earnest into the elf’s chest. “I’m s-sorry!” she hiccups, eyes filled with great, watery tears.

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” Dalish assures her, rubbing her back gently.

When the Inquisitor has calmed again, she asks tentatively, “What _did_ happen?

“It’s...”

_ Blurry. Flashes of green, fear, and blood. Shrieking and fog and hundreds of eyes and reeks of iron and rust and sacrifice- _

“... complicated,” she decides on with a shudder. “Didn’t Cassandra already talk about it? Or Varric?”

Dalish snorts, rolling her eyes. “She’s been tight-lipped and Varric spouts only tall tales - none of which are about you.”

“Do you know what happened after I came through the rift?” Subira scratches her head and then shakes it, still a tiny bit uncomfortable with her now bald head.

“I know what Varric said happened,” Dalish grimaces, thinking of how he had been enchanting all of the allies that Madame de Fer had managed to ensnare while the Inquisitor had been out-of-commission. “I can get him-“

“No!” she panics, settling as soon as Dalish sits by her side again. “Your version will be just fine.”

“Alright,” the elf sighs, making herself comfortable. They end up with Subira’s head in her lap and Dalish up against the wall, her fingers gently carding through her hair while the girl has one arm wrapped around her legs. “According to Varric, Cassandra and Clarel went through, and then he did...”

* * *

He watched Hawke fall through and tumble to the ground swearing, groaning and sputtering, but no Spitfire. His heart caught in his chest the longer she didn’t show up. Every second stretched like an eternity but it could’ve only been a minute, waiting for her to come through like she promised she would.

“Where is she?” Cassandra barked, leaving Clarel to stand on her own and approaching Hawke menacingly. The tall woman seems just as confused. “Why hasn’t she come through yet?!”

Sidona falls through the rift next, swearing until she’s blue in the face and not landing in a dignified manner at all.

“That _stubborn-“_

“Sidona,” Hawke tries feebly, but the Warden is completely wrapped up in her rambling.

“-Cannot believe he’d-“

_ “Sidona...” _

“I’m going to go back and find him and then I’m going to wring his-“

“SIDONA!”

The Warden blinks up at Hawke, disoriented from being pulled out of her own head. “Yes?”

“Where are they, Sidona?” Clarel asks softly from a few feet away.

Sidona closes her eyes. “Stroud pushed me through after we made you go.”

“And what about the Inquisitor?” Cassandra snarls, on edge and seeming very ready to stick her sword in anything.

Sidona looks away, for once unwilling to meet eye contact.

“I don’t know,” the Warden-Commander finally admits after several moments, leaving an eerie silence in the wake of her words.

_ “Hawke!” _

Marian’s head swiveled around in confusion. “Is that-“

The same voice, causing a noticeable disruption as they pushed through the crowd called out again, _“Hawke!”_

A slightly frantic and worried pirate pushes her way through the crowd, storming up to the Ferelden woman and slamming her hand onto her armored chest. “Don’t you _ever_ do that again!” And then she pulls her in, burying her face in her neck. “Never again.”

Marian hugs Isabela back as hard as she can once the initial shock passes. “Bela, what are you-“

The pirate interrupts her. “Long story, doll. Do you remember the Shadow of the Alienage?”

Hawke furrowed her brow.“The one who followed Merrill around sometimes?”

Isabela hummed in agreement. “And annoyed Fenris? Yes, that’s the one.”

“What does that even have to do with anything?”

Dressed in full Warden regalia - that was clearly made to fit someone else, and not the other way around - Kal steps around someone in the crowd. Around her neck is a dark vial of what looks like blood, tiny inscriptions carved into the bottle. 

With a brief bow and one hand on her daggers she clears her throat. “Greetings, Hawke. I am Warden Kallian Tabris. Though I spent nearly ten years trying to run from that.”

Hawke’s brow furrowed. Ten years was a long time ago, but that name seemed familiar. 

Her and Isabela separate slightly, but still lean on each other. The pirate possessively rubs different parts of Hawke absently - her arms, her hip, her shoulder - any part to remind her that she’s here and real.

“My twin brother ended the Fifth Blight,” Kallian supplies quietly, hands behind her back and shoulders straight. “Not many know of me anymore. I made sure of that, despite Alistair and Zevran’s efforts.”

Sidona stands, finally, and eyes Kallian up and down. “Are you here to take your job back?”

“Aye,” Kallian nods and then falters, her ears lowering in deference - something that, if anyone who knew her ten years ago had seen, would drop their jaws on the floor at. “If that’s alright, Commander.”

“Take it... _Commander,”_ Sidona tilts her head to the other woman, drawing from Subira’s snarled lesson while in the Fade. “I’ve had enough of chasing after Ferelden’s idiots. There’s a few Orlesian ones I need to deal with. And then, I think I’m going to relax until I die.”

Kallian smirks, but she falls into proper form and nods professionally, a blank expression plastered to her face once again.

“Bela, how did you two get here in time?” Hawke asks with a furrowed brow, looking between the two.

Kal shrugged when Isabela looked to her and she answered, “I get information from my contacts every now and then. King Alistair has been trying to reach me for awhile and when I heard about what was going on I, uh... decided it was time to stop running from Darrian’s sacrifice.”

“And you just happened to find a Rivaini ship captain?” Varric asked with a wide, knowing smile. “Good to see you, Rivaini, Shadow.”

“Varric!” Isabela practically squeals. “You little rascal, I didn’t see you. Get that magnificent chest hair over here!”

Chuckling, he obliges and the three of them - Hawke, Isabela and Varric - share a tight hug.

Kal grumbles slightly at Varric’s long insistence on the nickname, but a small smile pulls at the edge of her mouth.

“I found her, actually,” Isabela smirks. “And to answer your question, I knew Kallian from when they stopped in Denerim during the Fifth Blight.” 

Varric raised his eyebrows. That, he had not known. They told him they met at the docks.

“By the way, Hawke, are you missing someone?” Kal said with a smirk, tugging another Warden out from behind her.

“Bethany?” Hawke murmurs in awe, looking to Isabela - who nods with an encouraging smile - and then she grins widely and steps forward once. _“Bethany!”_

“Marian,” Bethany breathes, looking more like a worn older sister than the younger sibling, but Hawke separates from her partner and friend and meets her little sister half way, spinning her in the air.

“Bethany,” Hawke sighed into her shoulder. “I thought you were far away from this nonsense. You promised.”

“I was, and I did,” Bethany confirmed, eyes closed tightly. “But Isabela and Kallian brought me along. Isabela _also_ told me about how you left her in Jader.”

“Ow! What was that for?” Hawke rubs the back of her head, glaring at Bethany’s offending hand that just whacked her.

_“That’s_ for leaving Isabela in Jader!” Bethany scolds, pulling back to look at her sister at a more direct angle.

“Varric already yelled at me.” Hawke pointed out grumpily.

“Varric!” Bethany says warmly, as if only just realizing he’s there and skipping over her sister now. “Come here and give me a hug.”

“Sunshine! Long time no see,” Varric smiles, but doesn’t take his eyes off the rift. He embraces the younger Hawke briefly.

The rift becomes active again, interrupting the moment and momentarily blinding them. Everyone draws their weapons through the stunning brightness, but it isn’t needed.

Through the rift comes a weak Solas, holding the Inquisitor up. His face is white as a sheet. Her armor is tattered and broken and the staff she had used is nowhere to be seen, but soot is smeared on her hands and ashes are dusted in her hair.

Eyes open, yet blank, she turned and walked forward a few steps on her own to the rift. She seemed to inspect it for a few moments before wordlessly raising her left hand and sealing the tear for good. Subira turned back to her companions, smiled once, and immediately collapsed into Solas’ arms.

He stares down at her. “We need help,” he mutters, and then more loudly, “We need to get the Inquisitor help!”

Cassandra snapped out of it and began barking orders immediately. The Companions that fought on the ramparts had joined the crowd around the Rift and now rush around to listen to her orders.

Madame de Fer steps forward. “To my Estate in Val Royeaux, Seeker. It’s closest. Come, come! Solas, let us take her, you’re barely standing. Solas! She’ll be okay. Hand her over. Blackwall! Gather the soldiers with Cullen. Maker, someone wrangle Sera.”

Everyone listens to her no-nonsense tone for once and the Wardens try to part for the Inquisition. As they scramble to get the Inquisitor medical treatment, one of the Wardens speaks up meekly.

“So... what’s going to happen to us?”

Clarel, barely awake and leaning against Sidona, murmurs something to the other woman. 

Sidona clears her throat. “Seeker, I believe that falls to you.”

Disoriented and distressed, Cassandra swears. “Just... go! Back to Weisshaupt, or wherever it is you’re from, and stay there! You’ve caused enough trouble!”

The elf shrugs, completely indifferent. “Fair. If you don’t mind, Warden-Commander Clarel and I will accompany you... just until the Inquisitor is awake, of course.”

“Aw, someone got soft!” Hawke coos teasingly and Isabela sighs, leaning into her chest. Sidona scowls at her.

Vivienne inclined her head, completely ignoring the Free Marcher. “Why of course, darling. I’m sure you and I have catching up to do.”

“I’ll... head to Skyhold?” Kallian suggested more than said, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly. “Leliana will want to see me. Or at least, I hope she will.”

* * *

“And that’s that,” Dalish shrugs simply. “the Orlesian Wardens were banished officially, the Commanders are here in the Estate, though. Warden Kallian did go to Skyhold, I heard, and Sister Leliana went ballistic. Raven feathers everywhere. Warden Hawke stayed in the city with her sister.”

Two soft knocks come from the door, but as they turn their heads towards it, Cole appears at the end of the bed and Subira sits up slowly to greet him. “You’re awake!” He grins widely, and then murmurs,

_ “He’s gone... he’s gone? Oh! I’m coming, darling. I’m coming.” _

The door bursts open seconds later to reveal Josephine, in a rarely disheveled state and panting. “Oh, you’re awake. I can hardly believe it.”

Subira opens her mouth and is immediately interrupted by the Ambassador rushing forward to catch her in a hug.

“Hello?” Subira says hesitantly, voice small and tired.

Her only response is another tight hug from the Ambassador.

“They thought you’d never wake up again,” the woman cries now, sniffling and her shoulders shaking.

“Well, uh, I’m awake?”

“Yes... Subira,” Josephine states her name softly, pulling back and her eyes are gentle rather than angry, curious instead of demanding. “Why?”

“I was afraid,” she admits, knowing it to be her fatal flaw. Fear of losing, fear of loving, fear of being let down.

This answer seems to be enough for Josephine for now, and she sits on the edge of the bed gently so as to not disrupt the delicate position that she’s in.

Dalish shakes her head at the ever accommodating Ambassador. “Take my place, Lady Montilyet. It’ll be easier if you’re staying, plus, I’m sure you’d like some time to catch up?”

Surprised, Subira nods her thanks and approval. Dalish carefully slips off of the bed, turning to give her a kiss on her head. “Be good, kid.”

Before she can protest that _she’s always good,_ Dalish has all but vanished from the room. With a bit of wiggling, Josephine is in the place that the elf was, with Subira’s head in her lap and her arm wrapped around her legs. They catch up - the time passes fairly quickly for her, even though it isn’t actually that long. Her eyes droop and she finds herself dozing off to the sound of Josephine’s voice and gentle fingers carding through her hair...

_ Some silly little girl comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders... _

She shifts minutely in from her cramped but previously comfortable position in Josephine’s lap.

_ Broken assassin... _

Her fingers curl into fists, clutching the fabric of the simple slip they had dressed her in between her hands. Josephine brushes errant strands of hair away from her forehead and peers down at her in concern.

_ False prophet... _

_ It’s the Nightmare’s Lair in the Fade again, and someone is tied to a pyre before it, burning. Suddenly she turns to face them and her heart plummets into her stomach. Tied to the pyre is Subira. Except she wears Andraste’s face, seen in so many paintings, wearing Inquisition armor and nearly all white. The edges of the armor are beginning to char. The her-Andraste opens her eyes blankly. _

_“This is what happens to the martyrs. Are you ready to make that sacrifice?”_

“No!”

She startles awake on a shout, biting her lip to keep from crying out from the pain that the sudden motion causes her. Josephine immediately encourages her to take deep breaths and close her eyes... _which only brings fire behind her eyelids and the smell of smoke and rot, her skin is burning to a crisp and she can feel the blisters begin to pop and-_

“Anita? Anita? Subira,” Josephine tries to get through to her gently, feeling how fast her heart is racing. “Focus on my voice, preciosa.”

It takes several minutes, but she finally calms down enough to switch from gasping breaths to deep, stuttering ones. Josephine rubs her back and shifts again, this time so she’s laying next to her like it’s the most natural thing ever. 

Though, somewhere in her mind she remembers that Josephine _did_ raise her siblings. Or at least, she helped.

Subira protests weakly, embarrassed, “I’m sixteen, Josephine, I don’t-“

Josephine shushes her, brushing a gentle hand through her hair. “I’ll be right here when the nightmares come back.”

The Ambassador’s face says more than her words do and reluctantly, Subira grunts her approval, turning onto her side just barely. Eyelids already drooping, she slips off into the Fade to meet her dreams once again. The sound of soft humming and an Antivan lullaby follows her almost like she’s underwater, luring her further and further beneath the surface until she’s finally asleep. 

Josephine, exhausted from hours of worrying - and only having arrived days ago - closes her eyes, one hand still gently petting the girls hair. No one bothers them when the doctor opens the door to see Subira curled up in the Ambassador’s embrace, a fiercely protective look on the woman’s sleeping face and yet her arms gentle. There are many jokes about _beware waking the sleeping dragon_ and comparisons to _protecting her young_ \- and, if Bethany drew a picture of it for the Inquisitor then that’s her business - but ultimately, they let the pair sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translation  
> preciosa - beautiful girl


	59. And Suddenly I See That I Can’t Break Free.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much plot. That’s pretty much the next couple of chapters while Subira recovers to be able to return to Skyhold. Who visits her today?

Subira is brought simple fare the next day, a bowl of broth and water - hydration is the most important part of recovery, the Doctor has stressed multiple times. She’s just sick of plain, unseasoned things, and she says as much, but the Doctor only shakes his head at her, pointing again at her plain broth.

Madame de Fer sits on the edge of the bed, her hand over hers in a gesture of comfort. Though there are many burns, peeling blisters and scrapes that are currently airing out and make it difficult, she does appreciate it. They talk about all the allies she gathered under the Inquisition’s name as she slept, hosting small gatherings to speak of Adamant.

When mostly, the conversation dies down and they’re both relaxed, Vivienne says, “you gave us quite a fright, my dear.”

Subira frowns, but before she can reply the woman continues, “what was it like to walk physically in the Fade?”

Subira stops to think on it. How _was_ her walk in the Fade?

Aside from the demons? Breathtaking. Every breath felt like breathing in magic - with no Veil to separate her from the World of Dreams, she felt more whole than she ever had. It was bright and clear in some places and muggy in others. It was beautiful. Astounding. Terrifying.

“A lot,” is the answer she settles on, her mouth twisting into a frown as she fails to adequately describe her experience in the Fade. There’s so much she wants to say, but she can’t make the words leave her body.

Trying to force them to makes pain bloom behind her eyes - something that has happened with more frequency since falling back out of the Abyssal Rift. She’s had them before, after her injuries at Haven; but laying in the dark in her room usually helped. Usually. Until the clanking of armor signaled her guards changing post or the tap-tap-tap of soft soled shoes indicated that her attendants were coming to collect her clothes.

The Orlesian Doctor said they have a few names, like _“fainting spells”_ , _“headaches”_ and _“migraines”_ , but he isn’t sure how she’ll be affected once she’s up and moving again.

“I would imagine it was,” Vivienne replies, likely understanding the girls predicament by now and shaking her out of her crowded thoughts. Often times she struggled with expressing how she felt about intense situations.

“I am more than relieved that you’re alright, however,” the woman adds softly, a different light in her eyes than usual - a caring glow instead of the predatory gleam she holds when she has the political advantage.

_Am I alright,_ she wonders idly in her head. Burns peeling on her hands and wrists. A lengthy, painful wound stitched up her back. Her leg tendons torn to shreds.

“Yeah,” Subira murmurs to the window, watching the sun set over the Orlesian horizon and land somewhere far away, wishing she could set with it and start over wherever she ended up. “I am too.”

“I know you aren’t pleased with your recovery time,” Vivienne comments in an attempt to prod a reaction from her that isn’t a glare or mumbling.

Subira merely grumbles at her, the pain in her head unfortunately growing instead of leaving. Vivienne gives her a measured look but allows it to slide. She opens her mouth to speak and is interrupted by two sharp knocks on the door. 

Vivienne sighs in acute annoyance. “Oh for the love of - who is it?”

“It’s Fiona, Madame,” the woman on the other side of the door sounds bitter to even be speaking with her, but she clears her throat. “Is the Inquisitor awake?”

Vivienne rolls her eyes. “Come in if we’re going to chat, darling.”

The way she emphasized _darling_ proved to Subira just how much they dislike each other, but she really doesn’t want to deal with it right now.

“Grand Enchanter,” she brightens a bit, ignoring her other companions incredulous look. “How kind of you to stop in.”

“Yes, dear,” Vivienne repeats with no enthusiasm and a blank look, “how kind. Did you need something, or did you plan to bore the Inquisitor to sleep with inane questions?”

Subira shoots the former court-enchanter a sharp look, but she pays the Inquisitor no mind.

Fiona merely plasters on the stiffest smile she can manage and replies, “if the Inquisitor is amiable, I’d like to speak with her, please.”

Vivienne immediately made to protest, but Subira laid a hand on her arm. “Madame, if you could give Grand Enchanter Fiona and I a moment?”

Slightly miffed, the mage huffed and stood, pressing out imaginary wrinkles in her dress. “Of course, darling. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

Vivienne, in a rare show of affection - or territory - rubs a fond hand over Subira’s cheek and makes her exit, head held high and pointedly not looking at Fiona.

Fiona stands awkwardly in the room, not sure where to go. 

“Please, sit.” Subira asks softly, gesturing to a chair close to the bed.

They say nothing for a long time, gathering their thoughts. Fiona has her hands pressed together over her nose, thin fingers tightly corded and staring at the wall. Finally, she speaks.

“Inquisitor, I-“

“Please, you can use my name now,” Subira murmurs. “It’s okay.”

Fiona chokes out a laugh. It’s bitter and harsh sounding a testament to how many months had to pass for them to get to this point.

“Yes, it is, I suppose. Maker, Subira,” her voice is a whisper. “I am so glad you’re okay.”

“Well, you know, I’m kinda glad too. How else would they save the world?” she says wryly, earning a glare from the elvhen woman.

“You still jest when you nearly died?”

The Inquisitor shrugs, not pointing out that she wasn’t joking. “How else do I deal with it?”

Her mentor rubs a hand over her face. “Something _other_ than that, perhaps.”

After a few more moments of silence, Subira says, “I remember what happened.”

This gains the other woman’s attention. “Yes? What happened, Subira? I should be more focused, I apologize...”

“No, it’s alright,” the girl assures. “I understand a lot has been going on.”

Subira sucks in a harsh breath and goes through the retelling of how she split from Castelleta at the Conclave to see how the talks were starting, how she then ended up in front of Corypheus and in the Fade trying to save the Divine and herself.

“My, the luck you have,” Fiona mutters sardonically. “And you say he called you halfling? How strange.”

Fiona stares at the young girl for several long moments; observing first the slightly wider slope of her forehead leading to a wide, proud nose and her high cheekbones, to the odd specks of copper-gold that swirl in Fade-green eyes.

“How strange,” she repeats, shaking her head.

“I know,” Subira agrees, oblivious. “And Solas said the orb Corypheus uses is Elvhen, Fiona. I wonder what he knows about the Ancient Elves that we don’t.”

“It is curious, indeed,” Fiona hums, and then frowns. “But hopefully you shan’t have to encounter that monster ever again.”

Subira looks away. “I’ll do what I have to do.”

“Subira-“

“All of this could’ve been avoided if I had just minded my business and stayed in line for the Crows,” Subira bites reflexively, and then she sighs, sinking into herself. “Sorry.”

“And if you had stayed with them, what would’ve happened? You would’ve went through with-“

“Yes! No! _I don’t know!”_ she snaps, tears pooling in her eyes.

Fiona sighs, softer this time. “Subira, none of this was your fault. All you wanted was freedom-“

“And look where it got me,” Subira snarls, clenching the marked hand in the sheet. “I’m the Inquisitor, Fiona!”

“Subira-“

“Tell me what happened in Redcliffe,” the girl switches subjects with no room for debate.

And so Fiona grimaces and buckled down to explain how after word of the Conclave exploding reached her, she scrambled to retreat. King Alistair offered a place in Redcliffe and they gratefully took it - until Alexius showed up and forcefully removed Arl Teagan. From there he persuaded - more like strong armed - Fiona into a deal to save the Mages. She was desperate, and he knew it. He was there right when she was most vulnerable - which they now know to be a result of his time magic - and from there it all unfolded.

“It was never my intention,” she sighs miserably. “I only wanted to keep my - _our_ \- people safe.”

“I know,” Subira reassures, grimacing at the pain that sharply kicks behind her eye again. “I know you did what you thought was best.”

“Are you feeling alright, dear?” Fiona asks in her motherly way. “You seem rather...”

“Just a headache. Or was it a dizzy spell?” she scratches her head. “The Doctor said I could have dizziness, nausea, and head pain more frequently now.”

Fiona stands, minding her robes, and locates the water with ease. “Drink some water, dear one. I’ll have the Doctor come see you when we’re done.”

Knowing there’s no point in resisting, she just sighs and accepts the water. “Thank you.”

“Subira, where are your friends? Castelleta surely would have stayed? Especially after the small one-“

“Michalis!”

“-And your young Kossith friend-“

“Herah!”

“-came to see me briefly before Alexius arrived. They left in search of you when they found out I didn’t know where you were.”

“They did?” Her face lights up, and then she deflates nearly immediately.

“What is it, dear one?”

“When Castelleta came to see me... she isn’t coming back. She was so angry with me, Fiona,” Subira chokes out, hot tears she had been restraining for weeks falling down her cheeks and dripping down her chin.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure that’s not true. She loves you,” Fiona reassures, tipping Subira’s head up to meet her eyes. “They all do. They wouldn’t have come looking for you if they didn’t. Let her have space.”

Subira cries harder, not quite remembering when she ended up in Fiona’s embrace but so grateful for the familiar comfort.

“I m - m - miss them,” she sobs, her hand tightening in response to her distress.

“I know, sweetheart,” Fiona replies quietly, her chest tightening into a knot made of steel and silverite, settling in between her lungs and her heart beats against it with every breath. To try and smother it, she just hugs the girl closer to her chest, hoping she can feel how loved she is through her touch. “I know.


	60. Take A Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira making Subira decisions and meeting a new friend in the middle of the night.

Awake and simultaneously groggy, she realizes it must be very late. The moons are shining into her room and casting an eerie glow across everything, but it’s not nearly enough to see fully and she half expects the barely complete images of the door, the dresser, and the desk to jump out at her as monsters.

As expected, since gaining consciousness, she’s had a difficulty with sleeping and staying asleep, unable to even close her eyes without seeing hundreds of legs and blood.

An idea comes to mind. Instead of restlessly counting sheep, how about...

_ Let’s see what we can do. _

A crutch sits leaned up against a desk, if she remembers correctly, practically waiting to be used. ( _Even if her Doctor said she shouldn’t be up yet and it’s only there so they can be prepared_.)

Now if she can just get to it.

Sitting up is easy, as the Doctor has had her sitting up for over a week now to drink, eat, read occasionally, and have short visits. Standing hasn’t even been considered, though, and she’s reminded of Haven, when she struggled to move through blinding pain and freezing cold. She swears, after Haven, she hasn’t been able to get warm, even when she’s sweating.

Her left leg goes over the edge of the bed mostly easily and while sore and slightly aching, doesn’t give her too much of an issue after she releases a hiss through her nose.

Trying to move her right leg had her immediately slamming her hands over her mouth to stifle the noise she made, sounding more like someone stuffed a nug in a bag. Breathing heavily and gritting her teeth she picks up her right leg with both hands and places it over the side of bed. She wordlessly swears at how painful it is until the waves of nausea and pulsing irritation pass, her muscles shaking.

_ Almost there. _

She places her left foot down first, a hand on the nightstand. She casts a larger shadow onto the wall than how she actually feels - small. That’s why she must do this now.

Wobbling and slightly dizzy, she uses her other hand to help get her right foot on the ground and nearly collapses, stumbling into the wall, the pain making her vision pulse.

_Fuck_ , she’s making a lot of noise, isn’t she? Biting her lip and screwing her eyes shut, she clings to the wall and puts her weight entirely on her left leg until she reaches the desk, panting heavily and a sheen of sweat over her brow.

She can barely see in front of her, even with the weird, muted glow of the Anchor in her hand like a beacon in the night. A glove sits on the desk as well and she gratefully pulls it over the mark, happy to not have to look at it.

Realizing she needs light to get out, she takes a deep breath, focusing on the candle she knows to be on the desk.

A tiny puff of flame flickers to life, smoke wafting up for a brief moment, and then sputters out pathetically. Just her luck, she thinks, gritting her teeth in frustration. Her vision pulses again as she pulls together every ounce of focus in her body, determined to get the candle to light. After another failed spark, a reliable flame sprouts up and leaves her thoroughly strained, but able to see.

Now she shifts, eager to walk, and grabs the crutch - not bothering to adjust it right then.Slowly, she begins her hobble towards the door. Her breathing is labored and she finds herself counting her steps to keep going. She ends up down the hall cautiously peeking around the corner, wondering if anyone is still up. Carelessly, her foot catches on a small table and she curses.

“What was that?”

_Shit_. _Of course,_ out of all habits Varric had to retain, it was staying up insanely late with anyone who would play Wicked Grace so he can avoid thinking about his own problems.

She turns around and goes down the other hallway she saw earlier, leading to a familiar side room with huge windows: Where she first spoke with Madame de Fer. It all feels so long ago.

“Ooh! An escaped convict, I see. And just what are you doing up so late?” a new voice laughs conspiratorially behind her. 

Subira startles in her brief reverie, losing her balance and nearly falling over, if the newcomer hadn’t caught her arm in alarm.

She asks the first question that came to mind, being, “Who are you?” 

The newcomer, a woman, had a large, ridiculous looking hat on, with plumes of huge feathers and bright colors, accompanied by a corset and high leather boots. She reminds her of...

“You’re a _pirate!”_ Subira gasps excitedly, thinking of the stories about her homeland she had read as a child. Her next, absolutely imperative thought is, “I want boots like yours!”

The woman she now knows to be a pirate chuckles, surprised, and then groans as a realization hits her. “Oh, don’t tell Hawke that, she’ll never let it go.”

Subira grins, tilting her head at the woman. “Wait, Hawke? Then you’re Isabela, right?”

The woman truly is gorgeous, she notes bashfully, blushing when she notices how... promiscuous, her outfit seems to be, specifically in the area of her chest. Quickly, she looks away, not wanting to be disrespectful and truly not meaning to. There was just a lot going on in terms of outfit: the Jewlery hanging around her neck, the corset itself, the ridiculous hat, her several piercings... Subira wanted to look just like her! 

She wonders if Cassandra and Leliana and Josephine would let her get her ears pierced.

Isabela grins softly. It’s less cat-like, like in The Tale of the Champion, and more folktale fox-like; fond of trickery, but less likely to pounce on you and might even help you out, if you’re lucky.

And then she replies, “The one and only, sweetness. Now, why are you out of bed, and why shouldn’t I go get someone?”

“... because I’m cute?” Subira tries feebly, peering up at the woman with her best puppy eyes. 

They usually work on her night rotation guards... but not Leliana or Josephine. Maybe they’ll work on her?

Isabela groans loudly, stomping her foot childishly - bingo. “Blasted - don’t do that!”

Subira only intensified her puppy eyes. “Pretty please? It’s so boring being cooped up in bed.”

At first she thinks Isabela is going to say no, and then she mutters, “... Oh, fine. Come on.”

Before Subira can ask what she means, the pirate is bending down and scooping her up in her arms. _Oh wow, she’s way taller than I thought,_ Subira notices when Isabela straightens like the girl weighs nothing and tucks her crutch under one arm and begins walking them... somewhere.

_ She’s so strong! _

Isabela chuckles warmly, causing the still-tired girl to blush as it reverberates through her. “You have to be to run a ship, doll.”

_ She has  _ got _ to stop saying these things out loud. _

“Wow,” she whispers raptly. She wants to be a pirate, too.

Suddenly there’s warmth and light, revealing a cozy - and large - sitting room with a lit fireplace, gold framing and lions decorating the mantle. A card game is going on at the table, Varric and Hawke bantering amiably until Baby barks to alert them of Isabela’s footsteps.

Hawke greets her without looking up from the game. “There you are, what took you so long - _Hey!”_

Hawke stands immediately to help Isabela when she turns to see her carrying the girl, settling Subira into one of the comfy chairs. 

The pirate grins at her lover. “I found a runaway.”

Subira pouts grumpily, a small divot forming in her brow. “I only wanted to get out of my room. I couldn’t sleep.”

Varric pats her shoulder with a chuckle. “I figured it would happen, just not so soon. How did you even get up?”

“A lot of effort,” she replies easily, curling up in her seat next to the roaring fire and a chill still rushes over her. Damn, do they have a window open?

Suddenly a large coat is being wrapped around her and she protests weakly until she realizes how warm it is. It’s cozy and made of leather, smelling of polish and the sea and instantly relaxing her. The shivering stops.

“You want to play a round or two?” Varric asks, shuffling the cards.

Subira shrugs an okay with one shoulder.

Isabela raises one eyebrow at her. “You can play Wicked Grace?”

Hawke whistles lowly. “Gives me a damn run for my money, too. Can’t get anything past the kid.”

“She learned from the best,” Varric brags, his eyes imploring her to back him up.

“No I didn’t,” she sticks her tongue out at Varric. “I learned in Antiva.”

Varric gives her an unimpressed look. “Kid, can’t you let me take credit for anything? You’ve picked up some tips from me, how’s that?”

“Better.”

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, Isabela asks, “Antiva, hm?”

“Born in Rivain, raised in Antiva,” Subira replies as she has a thousand times before. “You know what they say. A parent away and the Crows will play.”

Hawke laughs and then, at Isabela’s disbelieving stare, plasters on a serious look. “Not funny, kid.”

“She’s a Crow?” Isabela says incredulously, even as she receives her cards from Varric, who looks at her with a this kid is legit expression.

The teenager - child - curled up in a massive arm chair in a jacket too big for her looks nothing like a Crow. Large bruising covers most of her body, and from sleepless nights of recovery, dark circles give the appearance of twin black-eyes.

“Former,” Subira corrects, her eyes darting across the cards before waiting to see what the others will do to make a decision.

“How is a Crow-“

_“Former_ Crow,” she corrects again, adding coin she didn’t have before to the lot on the table.

“-running an Inquisition?” Isabela finishes with great speculation.

Varric pats his sides quizzically, muttering to himself periodically. Marian shoots him a look containing a question, but he ignores it in favor of continuing his search.

“It’s a long, boring story, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to hear it,” the girl deflects, raising the bet.

“Hey, Spitfire-“

Isabela leans in with a sharp grin, interrupting him. “I’ll play you for it?”

Hawke frowns. “Bela-“

“No, no,” Subira grins herself and shifts in her seat, a gleam many of them haven’t seen often appearing across her eyes. “I’ll take that bet. What do I get if you lose?”

“Hey-“ Varric tries again.

“I won’t, but if I do...” she chuckles when she realizes the perfect prize. “Boots. I know you said you wanted some.”

Subira grins toothily. “Deal.”

“Great, now that that’s settled: Spitfire,” Varric says with a businessman’s smile and a raised eyebrow, “have something to tell me?”

Subira feigns nonchalance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Varric’s eyes shine with amusement. “So you didn’t swipe one of my coin purses just a few moments ago?”

“Nope,” she replies with a grin, taking money out of said coin purse to put in the pile.

_ She’ll give it back later. She just has a game to win. _


	61. Been a Long Damn Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, a recap of the night before through Isabela’s memories. Next up: Varric and Isabela have an insightful conversation.

“I can’t believe she beat me!”

A strangled noise comes from under the heap of blankets and pillows. “Bela, _please,_ I’m trying to sleep.”

_“Hawke._  Hawke _,_ a teenager beat me at Wicked Grace.”

“I _know,_ Bela,” the muffled words come from under the fluffy Orlesian pillow. “Can you please complain about this when it isn’t the ass-end of the night?”

“Sweetness, it’s practically morning already,” Isabela points out, appreciating the warm sunrise climbing over the windowsill and into their room. “I have more important things to worry about than sleep: like how she caught me cheating!”

“Good thing you don’t need me up for that,” Hawke pokes her head out to grumble, and then settles further into the sheets.

Isabela thinks back to last night. Not many rounds after Isabela was beaten, Subira had fallen asleep in her chair, her face scrunched up and pulling the jacket more tightly around her...

* * *

_ [Last Night] _

“She’s something,” Isabela commented idly, taking a swig of high-quality Orlesian brandy.

Varric shook his head. “You know, I know someone just like her...”

She remembered rolling her eyes. “Just because we’re both from Rivain-“

“Her mother abandoned her,” Varric cut in. “No father, not one she’s mentioned. She can speak Rivaini, too.”

She scoffed, not nearly inebriated enough for these comparisons. “Anyone can speak Rivaini. Lots of people don’t have parents.”

Marian, silently observing the restlessly sleeping girl, shook her head in disagreement.

Isabela pouted and made to comment, but decided it wasn’t worth it. Her concerns about the girl greatly outnumber the similarities between the two of them. _Hopefully._

Marian sighs, kneeling before the sleeping girl. She maneuvers her into her arms with her head on her shoulder and jerks her head towards the direction of her room, indicating she’s bringing her to bed.   


Isabela follows close behind and Varric mouths, _“goodnight,”_ to them as they go. Baby curls up at his feet under the table.

When Hawke goes to lay her down in the bed, Subira clings tight to the jacket Isabela had wrapped around her, fingers dug into the soft leather.

“Let her keep it,” Isabela insisted in a whisper. She remembers how she cursed Hawke’s influence on her.

Hawke tucked Subira in - with the jacket - and thought to leave, but the girl began to struggle in her sleep. She sat back down immediately to set about calming her, and within moments she fell back into an uneasy sleep.

Isabela lead her lover out of the room, closing the door gently behind them.

“What about your jacket?”

“She can just keep it, I said,” Isabela grumbled, annoyed that it’s being brought up a second time.

Hawke smiled to herself. They _both_ knew that Isabela could go get the jacket as Subira slept and is choosing not to.

“Don’t give me that look, Hawke,” Isabela warned to the soft, doe-eyed adoration on her partners face.

“What look?” Hawke asked smartly, one eyebrow raised in defiance.

Isabela gave her an unimpressed glare. _“That_ look, you ass. I don’t do well with kids.”

Marian huffed. “You seem to get along just fine with _An_ \- I mean, Subira-“

“Getting _along_ with and _doing well_ with are two entirely different concepts!” Isabela protested. “Give it some time. This is the first time she’s meeting me, she might hate me eventually.”

“Bela, she’s enamored with you,” Hawke had teased. “I might have to fight her for you!”

“Hawke,” Isabela scowled. “You are _not_ fighting a teenager.”

“Ooh! Look how serious you are!” Marian laughed and kissed her lover sweetly, even while she grumbled. “Relax, love. I just mean that she absolutely adored you tonight.”

* * *

After that, they retired to their room, where Hawke threw herself down on the bed and declared she was never rising again. Isabela watched the sunrise as she contemplated and, wondering if Varric was still awake, headed back to the parlor. Hawke tried to sleep for as long as she could.


	62. Take a Deep Breath As the Fear Sets In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Isabela talk late at night about their concerns for the very young Inquisitor.

_“Who’s the best mabari in Thedas?”_ A mushy voice coos as she came down the hallway.

Varric looked up right at Isabela as she stood in the doorway, a smirk on her lips and hands on her hips. Baby, oblivious, yipped at the dwarf rubbing her tummy, very eager for him to return to doing that.

“You saw nothing, Rivaini.”

Isabela raised her hands innocently in a show of surrender and her apparent good intention, but Varric eyed her warily before giving Baby one last pat and returning to his seat.

“Shouldn’t you be enjoying a lavish Orlesian bed with Hawke?” Varric inquires with a raised eyebrow.

She hums, not quite a disagreement but not quite an agreement. “She’s out cold. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Another hero tasked with saving the world,” he comments knowingly, surprising her only slightly with his accuracy in pinpointing the root of her thoughts. “And this time, it’s a teenager.”

“That’s a child, Varric. Give it another name, but she is a child,” Isabela hung her head, suddenly overcome with a deep, profound worry. “Hawke barely did it,” her voice is a whisper. “How is a kid going to?”

Varric frowns, looking into the now dying fire in the fireplace. “I don’t know,” he finally decides on, tiredly.

Isabela still isn’t used to this type of give-and-take honesty from Varric - she’s used to his deals, to always being a step ahead, to evening his chances and normally getting the right outcome. But this time? Varric doesn’t know either. And that’s _scary._

“I came here, fully ready to throttle some random noble, the Inquisitor, leader of a _Holy Army,_ for endangering Hawke,” Isabela laughs ironically, running a hand through her tangled hair. “To find a _child_ stumbling out of the Fade.”

“She’s surprised us all,” he replies a bit distantly, eyes far away. “You know she made us go first?”

Varric clenched his fist in his lap and unclenched it. “Everything was happeningso quickly, Rivaini. One second we’re all at the exit, the next she isn’t there on the other side. I’d have to ask Hawke, we haven’t talked about it all much since it happened, but she saved her.”

“Selfless kid.” Already better than Isabela was. _Is,_ she corrects herself mentally. She could _never_ take on this type of leadership. Never _would._

Varric snorts, “You don’t know the half of it.”

She tilts her head in question. The dying firelight illuminates her deep brown eyes, full of question and yet a very comprehensive understanding for the Inquisitor - _a child so similar to herself_ \- and makes her dark skin glow warmly.

“Kid doesn’t have an ounce of self worth,” he elaborates, confirming Isabela’s thoughts on the matter. “Throws herself into every fight. Reminds me a bit of Hawke - except... Hawke didn’t act like that until, well, you know. Everything.”

 

_Everything_ was a broad term and an even wider concept, but Isabela knew what he was talking about. Hawke, while she threw herself into every fight with everything she could give for others - did it out of a place of generosity and compassion. She was simply passionate and didn’t believe in not giving her all. It only got dangerous after Leandra died, and the city started to crumble.

So she simply replied, “I know.”

But Varric wasn’t done. “And this kid - half the time I want to strangle her for being so reckless and the other half I want to tell her I’m proud of her for outsmarting me. She has this blatant disregard for... everything, really.”

This sounded more like Isabela, now. “Oh?”

“Not the way you think. She’s a funny kid - real smart, real intuitive. The moment you start to corner her she lashes out like a caged war dog. Her and the Seeker argue constantly.”

“Shes... very different than I was, at her age,” she murmurs thoughtfully, a hand on her chin. “Don’t get me wrong, I also had a disregard for my own safety. But I was selfish, not selfless. If I was going to survive, I had to choose myself. No one came first except _me.”_

Varric shrugs, and then frowns. “I think... she also had to live like that - but also had to remember her place. _Frequently.”_

Isabela winces, knowing that, if you were to fall into the wrong hands in Antiva, _your place_ was somewhere you were put no matter what.

“They’ve made her some living martyr,” Isabela says, now leaning her elbows on her knees. “All I see is a scared kid.”

“You and me both, Rivaini. You and me both.”

“So why don’t you do something?” She demands what she’s finally been wanting to since she saw just how badly wounded the Inquisitor was. “You’ve sat here this entire time on your ass?”

“What am I supposed to do?!” Varric raises his voice for the first time, probably ever, at Isabela. His eyes are stricken with grief, and stray hairs fall around his shoulders. “The best I can do is stay, Isabela. I’m trying my best. I am.”

Isabela nodded and ducked her head in shame, even against the growing sense of unease inside her. While knowing Varric’s words to be true, she still saw so much of herself in Subira - a neglected child, abandoned and afraid - and wanted action.

“It isn’t fair,” she says finally.

“I know,” he whispers miserably, his face wearing the worn lines of someone who has exhausted every possible avenue in their mind and knows the outcome will be terrible.

The author in him had tried to write her a better story, to find a way to save her, his eyes said. The circles under them told her how many nights he’s sacrificed trying to figure it out.

He repeats, “I know.”


	63. The Troubling Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soft Josephine and recovering Subira feels. Josephine wonders about the repercussions of the Inquisition - mainly, sacrificing her morals to ensure Thedas’ survival.

Bright and early, Josephine came to visit Subira with breakfast. The Ambassador had spent the last few days watching the Doctor treat her wounds and re-wrap the ones that needed it, even going as far to ask questions about what he was doing. He didn’t seem to mind explaining at all - he said it was good if another person could help treat her once she returned to Skyhold.

So, with an attendant following behind her carrying a small tub of warm water and herself carrying the towels, bandages, and the food, Josephine knocked on the door. “Inquisitor!” she called jovially. “It’s Josephine. May I enter?”

A strangled groan was the only response she got, causing the Ambassador to frown. Cautiously, she opened the door and stepped inside, placing the food on the desk and instructing the attendant to place the water on the bedside table, along with the towels and bandages.

Sprawled across the bed lays Subira, trying to cover her face from the rays of sunlight peaking in through the curtains. By the coloring under her eyes and the unhappy look on her face, it seemed she had a rough night. Poor dear, Josephine thought sympathetically, as she flung open the curtains. Subira groaned louder.

“Wake up, my dear. It’s time to eat, and then we’re going to change your bandages.”

Subira blinked open one eye, and then the other. Her hair was still in the process of growing back in, but it was at least a little bit longer than it had been when they arrived. _And is that..._

“How curious,” Josephine murmurs, leaning to inspect the section of stark white, almost silver, hair growing in among the rest, a line going horizontally backwards down her scalp standing out like a scar.

“ _Josephnn-?”_

“Yes, my darling,” Josephine smiles, watching as tired eyes force themselves to stay open and wince at the bright light over and over again.

Subira grumbles something before turning over with much pain.

“What was that?”

_“Not_ hungry,” she repeats, dropping her head back into the pillows.

“You have to eat something,” the Ambassador reasons.

Frustrated noises were released into the pillow, some of them presumably curses. Finally, Subira turned over, cursing the entire way, these of which Josephine could hear.

“Because you’re in pain, I’m giving you a pass,” she warns, preparing a cup of water for her, as well as her bowl of plain oatmeal.

Subira eyes it disdainfully, drinking most of the water in one go and poking the oatmeal with her spoon.

_“Subira,”_ Josephine says in a warning tone.

_“Josephine,”_ Subira mimics her.

One eyebrow raise is enough for Subira to duck her head and swallow a small spoonful of oatmeal, though from the look on her face you’d think it was poison she was choking down and not unseasoned oatmeal.

“This is a step up from broth, yes?”

“It’s unseasoned oatmeal, Josephine,” the girl deadpans. “This is an insult to my pallet.”

Josephine laughs unexpectedly, placing a hand over her mouth to cover the sound. She’s sure that Subira picked that up from Vivienne. _Oh,_ if the mage could be here now - she’d be thrilled.

“And while I understand that...” a hopeful look appeared in the girls eye, “... you still need to eat it.”

“Ugh!”

Josephine made sure she at least ate a bit - which wasn’t much, because even while recovering her appetite has been lacking, but she still got something into her and began to clean up.

“It’s time for your bandages,” she told the dozing girl. “Do you need help with your shift?”

The answer to that was yes, but Josephine knew that Subira would not accept help unless she asked.

Subira mumbled her agreement and began to sit up, struggling the entire time. The Ambassador comes to her side, frowning. “My dear, I can help-“

“I can do it,” Subira snaps irritably, clearly very tired.

Eventually, she did get into a sitting position. With no energy left for anything else, she rested against the pillows and allowed Josephine to help her with the shift.

First the shift came off, and then the bandages on her wrists were unwrapped, followed by the ones on her torso. Subira has to lean forward on Josephine for those to come off, slumped and breathing heavily.

As she’s preparing to clean the healing wounds, she takes notice of a wound on Subira’s stomach that she had only seen glimpses of before. A large, gnarly scar, curving in an arc downwards towards her hip.

Subira doesn’t even notice her staring, far too tired to process the passage of time. For probably the hundredth time since meeting her, Josephine wonders just exactly what she’s been through and her heart aches.

Gently, she begins to wipe her wounds clean, drying them afterwards and smearing on a poultice that the Doctor had left for her.

The only one she’s particularly worried about is the back wound, and she shifts to the side of Subira, with her legs bracketing her and her head resting on Josephine’s shoulder as she gently rubs it clean of the dried blood from when it wept as it healed. Subira shivered from the air hitting the water on her back.

When she finished, Josephine bandaged her wrists, torso and back with the same care that she cleaned them with and slipped the shift over her head, murmuring words of encouragement the entire way. When Subira is laying back on the pillows, Josephine caresses her cheek as a mother would her child and sighs.

Leliana had written her a letter, wondering about the return of the Inquisitor. _Soon,_ she writes back, looking back at her sleeping face. _It has been difficult, but she will persevere as she always has,_ Josephine adds with a bit of finality, not sure if it’s for herself or Leliana.

Once she can use the crutch, they’re headed back to Skyhold. They cannot spend anymore time than that.

Josephine closes her eyes as she seals the letter, feeling a deep regret swirling in her stomach from writing the words, but knows them to be necessary.

At the end of the war, the casualty’s will add up. Will they be apart of the death count? Their morals? What will they have to sacrifice to ensure the fate of Thedas?

The slumbering girl tosses and turns in her bed, just like the waves of uncertainty toss and turn in Josephine’s mind as she exits the room to find a runner.


	64. But I Know.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The (former) Commanders want to thank Subira for her actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no drafts we post like men  
> edit: yeah I had to change the chap title because it was too similar to another chap title shh yeah maybe my titles are inspired by songs and I forget which ones I’ve used I’m human

“Commanders,” Fiona greets with a nod at least a week later, all of them - Hawke, going by Amell, the Commanders, Varric, and of course the Inquisitor - sitting down for a formal dinner that both the Ambassador _and_  former-Enchanter Vivienne had insisted on.

“Fiona,” Sidona replies blandly, as she is prone to do. “We aren’t Commanders anymore, you know.”

“Right, yes, I find it difficult to remember,” Fiona sighs with a touch of melancholy. “You both have commanded some amount of title since I’ve known you.”

The other woman clears her throat. “I apologize, we haven’t had much time to talk. I’ve been organizing the Wardens return to Weisshaupt.”

“Certainly, it has been a busy time for us all,” Fiona agrees, taking a sip of wine. “It has been a long time, my friend.”

And it had - previously the women had met briefly as Enchanter’s in Montsimmard, and then again as Grey Wardens.

Clarel smiles. “At the very least, I am glad we get to meet again, Fiona. It was disheartening to see you go back to the Circle.”

“I’m glad as well, Clarel,” the elf replies somberly, seeming to remember when she was given back to the Circle. “It seems so long ago when I was a Warden. I apologize I did not stay in touch-“

Vivienne rolls her eyes further down the table, but Sidona intervenes before she can make a comment. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? Time does go so fast, and certainly we’ve all been busy, what with the Rebellion.”

Clarel, sensing Sidona’s timely intervention, turns to Vivienne. “Madame de Fer, I would like to say that it has been... _generous_ of you, to allow us to stay,” gesturing to Sidona and herself.

“It’s no problem at all, darling,” Vivienne replies, her smile more teeth than anything. “Anything for an _old friend,_ of course. And with you being someone so instrumental with our Inquisitor’s return, it wouldn’t be just if I did not...”

Subira sits uncomfortably in her chair, the rigid back and chafing clothes irritating her healing wounds. The dinner was being thrown because she was finally officially been cleared to use her crutch a few days ago, which meant they immediately dragged her back into the fray of politics and intermingling.  


Clarel herself is not much better off, but has been able to heal herself much faster and is therefore at least a bit ahead of her in terms of health.

Her head is pounding. She’s barely listening to the conversation, and when people talk to her they receive one-word responses. This dinner is ridiculous. _Why is she here?_

_ Oh, great. Now they’re arguing about the Wardens. _

“... believe there was still some good for them to do, after all...” Fiona replies firmly to something Vivienne said over her wine.

“Would you like to throw the demons at them, instead?” the other mage retorted.

Subira, before she lost her courage, decided to comment. “I think the Wardens... have exceptional bravery. I do not necessarily agree with Cass - Seeker Pentaghast’s decision as a permanent solution for an age-old order, but it was no longer viable for them to stay in Orlais. Surely no one can dispute their achievements - ending _every_ Blight? The protection of mankind for Ages?”

Her tone became sharper and sharper, words pointed like knives and intended to cut so that her words may hit home. The table is silent, digesting what she’s said along with their rich wine. It’s the most she’s said in one sentence in... awhile.

“Well said, Inquisitor,” Josephine beams, placing her goblet down gently. “I believe it may be time to move this to the parlor-?”

“Ah, yes,” the newly resigned Warden-Commander of Ferelden sighs. “If the Inquisitor does not mind, Clarel and I would like to speak with her.”

“Yes, of course,” Josephine answers immediately, rising to escort the group out of the dining hall.

_“Alone,”_ Sidona adds, her eyebrow raised in a silent challenge.

Josephine pauses, looking to the Inquisitor.

Subira nods, to Josephine’s surprise and dismay, her fingers twitching by her side. “It will only take a few moments, I assume. Come, then.”

With great effort, she manages to get from seat to standing to crutch. Clarel uses a walking stick in place of her staff, and the three of them proceed down the hall to one of the sitting rooms.

No one says anything for several minutes. Sidona builds up the fire neatly and Clarel lights it, leaving them all pleasantly warmed in their comfy chairs.

“We wanted to...” Sidona looks to Clarel uncomfortably and adjusts the collar of her tunic.

“We wanted to thank you for your bravery, Inquisitor.”

“Oh...” Subira replies quietly, eyebrows furrowed. “It wasn’t... please don’t mistake me, but your thanks isn’t needed.”

“Surely, your act of selflessness cannot go unnoticed,” Clarel counters incredulously. Sidona leans forward, elbows on her knees. “Such a thing needs thanks, of course. If it weren’t for you... I do not know what would have befallen the Wardens.”

“Chaos, probably,” Sidona remarks dryly. “I’m sure you would’ve cooked up something absolutely terrible had the Inquisitor not intervened.”

“Aptly put,” Clarel sighs, clearly tired of her colleagues endless wit. “Regardless, your bravery required acknowledgement.”

Subira nods, a weirdly contemplative look on her face. “You’re welcome. I... did not want to see anyone sacrifice themselves for me.”

“No one does,” Clarel replies empathetically.

“May I have a minute with her, Clarel?” Sidona says finally, looking as if she’s just digested a large amount of information and stumbled upon her answer.

Confusion colors the other mage’s features, but she nods slowly. “Of course. Good day, Inquisitor. And again, thank you.”

When they’re alone, Sidona looks at Subira head on. “So, spill.”

“What?”

“Don’t get me wrong, kid. Your selflessness is sappy and is enough to make me gag,” Sidona exaggerates a shudder, “but that wasn’t why you made us go, was it.”

Subira sighs, looking towards the window slowly. “No, it wasn’t.”

Sidona continues to look at her expectantly, and eventually, she elaborates, when her tongue and brain finally work together. “I did not want anyone dying for me - I still do not. However... I am tired.”

_I am tired._ A bell seems to go off in Sidona’s head, a light, some sort of _aha_ moment. _So young, to be so tired,_ she muses. Tragic, and yet, the way of this savage world.

“That is all I wanted,” Sidona shrugs, standing to leave. “Come, I’ll escort you to your rooms.”

“That is all?”

The former-Dalish woman pauses, and then sighs. The veneer she normally wears, full of quiet confidence in herself and her decisions, breaks a bit to reveal tired and scarred eyes.

Finally, she finds her tongue and answers, “I simply wanted the truth, Inquisitor. Without the truth, who are we - to even ourselves?”

The implication;  _I do not want you to lose yourself,_ is heavy in the air left in the parlor as they exit and clings to the spaces between the fabric of their clothes.


	65. Immortality is Bliss.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira finally gets some comfortable sleep ft. Baby the mabari.

Isabela and Hawke, for some unknown reason, are traveling with them to Skyhold. They seem to be drifting and have no problem helping with the Inquisition in the time being.

Bethany only met the Inquisitor for a few moments - at their departure - but she tucked the drawing of her and Josephine into the confused girls hand with a wink and a smile.

With a lingeringhug to her sister and her lover - and of course, Varric, she left with Sidona and Clarel for Weisshaupt, determined to set their broken order back on track.

And Subira...

... is not riding her horse.

“What the hell, guys?” she pouts while they mount outside the estate, noting her war-steed that she rode to Adamant isn’t tacked up.

“Why is she attached to that wagon?” Subira asks in confusion. “Where am I riding?”

“In the carriage,” Josephine replies, walking so gracefully she appears to glide towards the spacious looking carriage. “Come now, we have to get going. It’s a long journey ahead of us.”

Muttering under her breath, Subira crutches her way after Josephine, who seems to be immune to her ire. 

Hawke gives her a sympathetic look from atop her own horse. She’s wearing a thick jacket to combat the high winds of the coming cold and chainmail underneath, sword strapped to the saddle. Isabela sits behind her, pirate hat and all, for all the world looking like she has conquered the most precious city.

Hawke whistles down to her mabari, and then jerks her head towards Subira, who is entering the carriage with minimal difficulty. “Follow.”

Baby wags her butt so hard she nearly falls over, waiting for the girl to be seated and then bounding off, leaping into the carriage behind Josephine and Subira. The door bounces shut behind them with giggling and agitated sounds coming from inside.

Varric pulls his pony up beside the carriage, still facing Hawke. “You two decide where you’re going yet?”

Isabela draws patterns absently on Hawke’s shoulders. “There’s no rush, Varric.”

He scoffs as the concession of the Inquisition begins moving. “No rush - until the Seeker threatens to kill you.”

Fumbling inside the carriage is heard for several moments until the window snaps open and Subira sticks her head out, frowning at Varric.

“Can you drop it already?”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” he murmurs in reply, much like a scolded child. 

Josephine reaches out of the carriage with an apologetic smile to them - and an exasperated look to Subira - and closes the window. The procession has begun to move from the Estate now.

“They wrap her up tight, hm?” Isabela drawls lazily, gazing at the carriage with sharp eyes.

Hawke snorts, turning to look at Isabela briefly before facing forward again. “The Seeker is worse. Barely let’s her go a few steps on her own.”

Varric hums his agreement, pondering new chapters for his book. A hooded rider approaches the procession at a canter, slowing down near the carriage.

“Dalish, you and your entrances. What held you up?” Varric asks amiably when the rider removes their hood.

“Sister Leliana required further information, I simply lost track of time,” Dalish answers curtly, but not rudely.

“Still weird to me that you work for her now,” Varric sighs, and then a devious grin appears on his face. “Though, can’t say I’m surprised. Do all of you have a thing for redheads, or is it just Bull?”

Dalish doesn’t grace him with a reply, but her cheeks do become intensely red and she glares at him, not appreciative in the least of his teasing.

Varric merely chuckles before leaving her to her devices; mostly just watching over the carriage like a hawk - no pun intended.

“Heard the Orlesians are discussing peace talks,” Varric comments amiably in Dalish’s direction. The elf glances at him and nods once.

He sighs. “That’s what I was worried about. You think they’re gonna make her go?”

Dalish pulls her lips into a thin line and turns her head towards the tree line.

“They can’t just throw her into the middle of a bears den,” Hawke mutters.

“Nothing is set in stone yet,” Dalish reminds them quietly, but her eyes say a different story.

“But they might?” Hawke presses.

She sighs deeply, her vallaslin pinching up. “Yes. If we can obtain a way to the peace talks, we must attend. I don’t like it either.”

“She can handle Orlais,” Varric tries to reassure, but it sounds weak to his ears.

“Sure, anyone can deal with Orlesians,” Isabela waves off his reassurance like an annoying fly. “But can she play the Game? Stuck in the middle of noble politics?”

No one replies to her question and instead the heaviness set upon them settles in the crevices of the doubt that has steadily grown.

* * *

Subira is cold. Traveling sucks on the best of days, but when you’re recovering and sick? She tugs the blanket Josephine wrapped around her even tighter, trying to keep her teeth from clacking together.

Baby the mabari curls up with her head on Subira’s lap, nuzzling into her and trying to warm her up.

“Are you cold?” Josephine asks, looking up from her papers briefly in concern.

“N-no,” she lies, cursing her inability to get warm.

Baby yips in protest and Subira glares down at the dog calling her out on her lie.

“Would you like to sit next to me?” the woman offers.

“I-I’m fine,” Subira assures weakly, lifting her hands to her mouth and breathing deeply.

_ Warmth, firelight, the sunshine beating down on rocks next to a stream. Heat builds in her chest gently, like a dragon stirring from a cozy nap. _

A warm, orange glow emits from her hands, and it heats her up pleasantly, if only for a moment. She rubs them together and over her arms and legs and then brings them into her blankets again, the glow fading slowly. She slumps against the wall when the carriage hits a bump, exhausted.

“Subira!” Josephine gasps, carefully crossing to her seat. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she coughs, a chill sweeping over her again. “I forget that I’m not used to doing that anymore. It takes a lot of mana if I’m not regulating myself, and I’m recovering, and... yeah.”

“I’m not used to it at all,” Josephine remarks, shaking her head. “At any rate, I’ll stay here. Lay on my shoulder if you like, hopefully we can get you warm.”

Subira murmurs her thanks and hesitantly, lays her head on Josephine’s shoulder after she’s gotten comfortable. With the blanket spread out between them, Baby snoring gently on her lap and the strong heartbeat under her ear, she drifts off.

The jolting of the carriage transcends into the realm of dreams, leaving her gasping each time. Josephine decides to hum a soft tune, and suddenly the waves aren’t so rocky, allowing her to float atop them to a peaceful rest.

The Inquisition doesn’t seem so pressing anymore, not when she’s surrounded by daisies and sunshine in the Fade. A curiously tall wolf, filled with the virtue of Strength and still like a statue, stands watch over her every night vigilantly.


	66. The Song of Dreamers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst the rain falls, Subira falls into the land of dreams...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time jump through the traveling because I don’t think I can deal with writing an entire month of traveling so. just imagine Subira has been unbearably bored and annoyed and everyone has tried to help. Baby was kicked out of the carriage early on by Josephine because smelly mabari. (Subira thinks she smells like bread, Josephine disagrees, the diplomat got her way. You know how it goes)

“Are we nearly back?” Subira whines, the rain pouring so thickly she cannot see ahead of them outside.

Josephine closes the now water droplet soaked window with a huff. “Yes, Subira. We’re just shy of three days away.”

Her body was sore because of the long trip and minimal time to stretch and work her recovering muscles, and restless because of the impending arrival. She missed many of her acquired companions, but also was afraid.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” she suggests, noticing Subira’s inability to sit still.

She shrugs and stretches, curling up in her seat. It’s fairly easy to fall asleep, transitioning from the waking world to that of dreams.

When she looks up, the wolf who has watched over her looks down at her intently, eyes made of stone and fixed in his position. When she looks away and back, he’s gone.

_Stranger things have happened,_ she thinks.

A pirate hat materializes on her head, along with boots just like Isabela’s over her breeches. A scabbard appears at her waist and she grins, happy with her swanky appearance. The sound of sea waves cracking against the shore and foam bubbling on the surface reaches her ears.

The peacefulness shatters when she feels another presence enter and she jumps around, startled, only to come face to face with someone familiar.

“Solas?”

He smiles softly. “I had hoped you regained the ability to enter the Fade.”

She runs into his arms, searching for the familiar scents of him; freshly ground herbs, the ground after it’s rained, parchment, and old books.

He wraps his arms around her shoulders and hugs her tightly. “I am not one for miracles,” he says quietly, pulling back to peer intensely stare at her face, grey eyes shining and turning them into a bright, emotive silver, “but you might just be the exception. Welcome back to the land of dreams.”

Subira grins again and buries her head into his chest. He gently brushes a gentle hand over her now short hair, a bit tentatively.

“Did you miss me?” She jokes lightly, and then pulls back to frown at the troubled expression on his face. “Is something wrong?”

“No, da’lan. I am too far in my own thoughts,” he looks down and away, and now she can see it: the haunted look on his tired face, evidence of many nights with no sleep since Adamant. “We feared you would never wake up.”

The ramifications of that - the mortifying ideal of her feelings being known coming to fruition - flooded her like a sea-level cave during a hurricane.  


The letters.

“Oh,” she replies, having heard it from the Doctor and Josephine, but she had felt they were overreactions. The idea that even Solas nearly gave up hope is...

_ Do I even feel anything about that? _

He nods, unaware of her internal struggle with mortality and the concept of being on the edge of death.

“I’ve missed much, I see,” he smiles, pulling back to observe her pirate hat. “And this?”

She blushes, and the hat and boots disappear. “I... uh...”

“I am joking, _da’lath’in_ ,” he murmurs, mirth shining brightly in his normally quiet eyes. “Worry not.”

“Good, because Viv says you dress like a hobo anyway,” she sticks her tongue out at him childishly. He looks almost amused.

“Of course she would, I don’t think rough spun clothing has ever touched her skin.”

Subira laughs loudly at this, eyes bright and happy. They spend their time together talking about the past month. They sit up against a large oak tree with a meadow of flowers surrounding them and waves crashing comfortably somewhere in the distance. The air is warm but not humid, reminding her of the spring in Antiva.

When they part and it’s time for her to wake up, she wakes up with a smile and a story just for her, warm every time she remembered that someone cared enough to traverse the Fade into her dreams to find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> da’lath’in - little heart, term of endearment in elvhen


	67. Continue Circling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Skyhold we go...

“Subira, my dear, we’re back,” Josephine murmurs, blinking her eyes open, only to see an empty carriage.  She throws a robe over her night-shift and moves the blankets in a panic.

She bursts out of the cart in a flurry, startling Hawke, Varric, and Isabela as they are calmly tacking their horses and cleaning up camp.

“Woah, Ruffles, what’s got you in a tizzy?” Varric asks hoarsely, still waking up.

“I can’t find the Inquisitor!” Josephine blurts out, her cheeks flushed and hair in a disarray.

Immediately, the three of them began to worry, but there was no need. The sound of large horse hooves startled Josephine into turning around.

Atop her war horse sat Subira, wearing a new outfit that Josephine had only heard whispers about. Dalish rides next to her on her own mount, her ears twitching at every sound.

The outfit is elegant and simple. Her pants are thick leather breeches and chaps up to her knees. Her tunic has a flared collar and is stark midnight blue, nothing irregular about it save for the slight, almost unnoticeable shimmer that passes over it every now and then. 

“Sister Leliana figured that people needed to see the Inquisitor,” Dalish fills in quietly.

Josephine nods. That must be where the tunic came from - Vivienne had spoken briefly of having an enchanted shirt made to protect the Inquisitor but it still be fashionable.

Isabela seems to silently guffaw and mouth something before turning on her heel and stalking several paces from the group. Hawke winces apologetically before following her lover and Varric shrugs, but the worry is clear in his eyes.

Subira has a blank look on her face, a clean slate and emptiness that seems to lie in her expression frightens Josephine.

“Well, we must be off,” Vivienne sniffs, mounting her horse gracefully and painfully pushing them through the terse silence. “Come, we do not have all day.”

Within fifteen minutes, everyone was ready to continue. Josephine sat in the carriage, watching Subira through the open window as she walked next to it on her horse.

Her posture was rigid, especially in places where her body hurt. Her face was not so much blank as it was set carefully, professionally. Her shoulders were set back and her heels down, almost as if she were a rider in a show.

When they approach the gates, Subira takes a deep shuddering breath and something wet trails down the skin of her cheek. Josephine, wondering if it’s raining sticks her hand out of the window and frowns when she finds no sign of foul weather. Subira wipes her cheek and sighs, kicking her horse into a fast trot.

The people of Skyhold _erupt._ They cheer and laugh, parting for her. Subira turns when she reaches the inside of the gates and halts her horse, looking out upon the sea of people. Among them, in the back, are Cassandra, Cullen, and Leliana, all with varying faces of concern. The rest of her companions are scattered, trying to get a glimpse of her or to her side.

Subira waits for it to quiet down. “People of the Inquisition,” she addresses confidently. “We won a tremendous victory in the Western Approach against Corypheus’ forces. Together, with the help of the Grey Wardens, we vanquished a powerful demon and prevented him from acquiring a demon army!”

A loud, ear-ringing cheer goes up, people throw hats, clapping as loud as they can. She smiles a politicians smile, but it seems to dazzle them. She removes her glove and raises the clearly glowing anchor high. A select few seem fairly concerned by this.

“Together, we can do this,” she clenches her fist, still raised high. “Together, we can win this war! I swear to you, this does not stop at the Approach. I will do everything in my power to take Corypheus down. I apologize for my absence. But I’m here now, and he isn’t getting away.”

With that, the Inquisitor clucks to her horse and trots to the stables away from the crowd of people clapping madly and chanting, _“For the Inquisition!”_

Blackwall is standing in the doorway of the stables, his bushy face scrunched up in what looks like confusion. She dismounts painfully and nearly keels over, but she stumbles with the horse and manages to make it into the safety of the barn. Someone takes the horse immediately and Blackwall comes to sit next to her, allowing her to catch her breath.

“Hey, runt.”

She nods a few times. “Are you mad?”

“At you?” He asks incredulously. She nods again. “Never. Of course I think the Wardens could do good. But I... understand, the Seekers decision. I’m glad you’re okay, kid.”

She leans her head against his arm, too tired to do anything else. He chuckles and lays a hand on her head. “Missin’ something?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m bald now,” she grumbles good naturedly. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

He grins, his bushy beard emotive somehow. “You look cool, kid. Especially with that white streak.”

“That what?”

He holds up a finger and disappears up the creaky wooden stairs, coming back down a few moments later with a small hand mirror. Subira stares at herself, gaping. “Wow...”

“You didn’t know?”

“No,” she chuckles, but there’s no humor to it. “I didn’t realize I had to look in a mirror to see my hairless head. Apparently, I should do that next time.”

Sera is the first to find them sitting together on the hay in mostly silence, full of nervous energy and her hair in her eyes.

She charges up to Subira, squishing her cheeks between her hands, one eye squeezed shut and the other fixed on her intently. “Are you okay? You don’t look too good. Did you get possessed? Why’s ya hair so funky?”

The questions overload her and Subira shakes her head. “I’m fine, Sera. And no, I’m not possessed. I don’t know why my hair is ‘funky’.”

Sera considers these answers and nods, stepping back, but her hands are still on Subira’s cheeks. “Sounds ‘bout right for you. You ready to get back to archery?” She grins in her way.

Blackwall gives her an unimpressed look. “Fine, fine!” Sera raises her hands innocently. “Let the kid rest and recover first. _Then_ archery.”

He nods in approval, crossing his arms over his chest comfortably. “There’s some people who want to see you, kid.”

Through crowds of people they escort her - with her crutch - to the Heralds Rest, where Varric, Isabela, and Hawke have already taken up with the rest of the Inquisition.

Dorian immediately rises from his lounge on Bull’s lap and pulls Subira towards him, fretting over her nervously and taking note of every still healing cut and scar now on her. 

She fidgets and pushes away from him to sit down at the table, observing her companions slowly.

“Hey, kid,” Bull greets across the table, a grin of relief across his face.

Briefly, she has a flash of sewing needles and Herah’s artificial screams and she flinches away from his voice, looking to the floor.

“Hey,” she mumbles.

Isabela slides down the bench to Subira, glaring at Bull but a grin for the girl. With flair, she puts an arm around her shoulder and declares, “We should get the kid a drink! What do you think she can’t handle?!”

Dorian stands in surprise, only for Bull to pull him back down. “You want to give the recovering child alcohol? Is she mad?”

Blackwall scoffs, “let the kid have a bit to drink, she nearly died, she’s earned it.”

After a round of arguing and a contest of drinks between Dorian and Isabela, it was decided that she would get one mug of ale for the night (a decision she had no actual say in, but she didn’t mind.)

Varric fans out a deck of cards, “Wicked Grace, anyone?” 

“I’m in!” Hawke announces loudly.

Bull shrugs. “Hell, count me in.” 

Sera giggles. “Aw, why not? I’ll play.”

Of course Isabela chooses to play, eagerly watching Varric shuffle the cards and shifting her extra cards in anticipation.

“Cmon, Warden,” Bull teases, nudging him with his elbow. “What about you?”

Blackwall caves and decides to play as well. Dorian is one of the last, mostly focusing on Subira’s constantly shifting eyes, but he does nod and flag down a server for a refill for the table - except for the Inquisitor, of course.

Dalish joins them, followed by Krem, Skinner and Stitches not long after. A raucous cheer goes up and ale sloshes out of mugs when they arrive, with alcohol being pushed into their hands as they sit.

“Kid!” Krem calls, nodding to his technical employer with a wide, genuine smile. “Glad you made it, Boss.”

The title _“Boss”_ was usually exclusively used for Cassandra, and makes Subira perk up a bit from where she leans on Dorian, playing with him instead of on her own.

Struck by the thought that she needs to say something and stop staring at the table, she replies loudly, “Yeah.”

Krem seems puzzled, but Dalish nudges him and he drops it, taking a deep drink from his mug with a grin instead. Skinner raises a hand to her and she nods back, Stitches waves.

An Inquisition scout appears behind the Inquisitor and she tenses and relaxes in the span of a second.

He leans down to murmur lowly, “Your Worship, the Council requests your presence.”

Subira sighs and goes to stand, grabbing her crutch and thanking the scout.

“Duty calls,” she relays to the table, her announcement punctuated by disappointed noises.

They watch her crutch with little difficulty out of the tavern and the chatter is minimum for several minutes after, Isabela eyeing Bull and Dorian with equal suspicion.

By the time she makes it to the War Room she’s breathing heavily and hot, trying to cool down.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen greets, opening the door for her. “Come in, come in.”

_ Back to business. _


	68. Diluted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly just character stuff, heart-aching fluff and care. Leading into some backstory.

“So, Post-Adamant statistics?” Subira asks first, leaning against the table with trembling muscles, still unused to being up this long.

Cullen rests his hand on the pommel of his sword and uses his other to rub the stubble on his chin. “I thought we might catch up first, Inquisitor-“

“I’d prefer we get business out of the way,” she interrupts. “How are we doing?”

Josephine clears her throat, used to her curt moods as of late. “From the investors that Madame de Fer attracted to her estate after Adamant, we have more than enough to fill our coffers. We have Ambassadors from every important noble house reaching out to us, and the Keep is nearly fully repaired.”

“Wonderful,” Subira praises, eyes bright for only a moment, before she turns to Cullen. “And soldiers?”

Cullen is silent for several moments as he decides on his response. “I don’t... know if you need to know about that. Our enlistment rates have never been higher, and we have plenty of money to feed the army and outfit them with proper weaponry-“

“How many did we lose, Cullen?” Subira asks quietly, looking steadfastly at the table. 

A barely noticeable tremor runs through her hands and her eyebrow twitches a bit. Her head tilts to the side, clearly uncomfortable. A hand comes up to steady herself with two fingers to her temple. The four in the room know this is indicative of her headache spells, and that they need to wrap this up soon.

The Commander releases a sigh through his nose. “You cut down our losses by recruiting the help of Enchanter Fiona and in turn, King Alistair. However... we did lose many good men at Adamant. We captured Magister Erimond, and he awaits your judgement.”

She sucks in a harsh breath and nods sharply. “Thank you, Cullen. Now, what do we need to attend to next?”

Leliana steps forward, looking to Josephine. “Orlais is in a state of disarray. Celene’s forces are holding Gaspard at bay, but just barely. There are whispers of a peace talk - a ball.”

Subira is filled with images where Empress Celene died in the future and all at once, the blood leaves her face. It feels like it all rushes to the floor and her balance is offset.

“We have to get to that ball,” she replies immediately, barely wincing at the sharp pain that flares to life in her head. “Celene’s life is in danger.”

“We tried to send messages, but we have no way of knowing if they made it to the Empress,” Josephine adds apologetically. “Currently, we must obtain an invitation to these talks.”

Subira nods. “Okay. Okay, alright. Anything else?”

“The Exalted Plains, Your Worship,” Cassandra finally speaks, quietly. “Due to the war, they are... not well off. We have sent contingents of soldiers to hold the front, but we cannot do more at this moment. We must address the Plains as we try to acquire an invitation to the Ball.”

“Yes, yes,” Subira agrees, still stunned that Cassandra referred to her as _Your Worship._ “It shall be done. We can leave within the week.”

Cullen raises a finger. “If I may? We also located the Mayor of Crestwood, if you would like to judge them both before you depart.”

“That is fine, Cullen,” she replies tiredly. “Now, I believe it is time I wash up and rest.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Josephine agrees. “I’ll have your attendants run a bath, and send up some dinner-“

“That won’t be necessary,” Subira calls behind her, already leaving the room. “I can heat my own water. And I’m not hungry. Please, send my regards to the attendants.”

The door slides shut behind her and they all stand a bit closer together at her absence.

“Cassandra,” Leliana says cautiously, laying a hand on her arm, “you should talk to her.”

The warrior looks to the wall, pressing her lips firmly together. There’s a crease inbetween her eyes, a signal of her frustration.

“She will not want to talk, Leliana,” she finally replies lowly. “Sometimes prying does not work.”

Leliana frowns. “She needs us right now, Cassandra.”

“No,” Cassandra barks a laugh and then grinds her teeth together. “She does not. She never has needed us.”

“I will be up to assist her, in any case,” Josephine says pointedly. “If you wish to join me, Seeker Pentaghast, feel free. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish up.”

In a swish of skirts she exits the room, leaving just Cullen, Cassandra and Leliana.

“What is really bothering you, Cassandra?” Cullen raises his eyebrow.

She makes a muffled sound of irritation. “It is nothing of importance.”

“She is merely frustrated that the Inquisitor nearly-“

“Do not finish that sentence,” Cassandra growls, turning on Leliana in a flash. Cullen places himself between the two women, a placating hand raised between himself and Cassandra.

“Go speak to her,” Cullen says softly, nodding towards the door.

Sighing, Cassandra lowers her tense shoulders and leaves without another word.

* * *

A bath full of slightly steaming water is waiting for her by the time Subira makes it up to her quarters. She blatantly ignores the stack of neatly tied papers on her desk and instead goes right to her bed to begin struggling with removing her clothes so she can get in the bath.

A strong, familiar knock sounds on the door and she ignores the first one. When it is not answered, it’s followed by two far more insistent knocks.

Her shirt gets stuck on her elbow and she grunts at the pain this causes. “Go away! I’m busy.”

Her visitor shifts at the door. “It’s Cassandra, Inquisitor. May I come in?”

She tugs on her shirt, trying to get it over her head, and groans when it again refuses to come all the way over. “No.”

A pause, and then in a more tentative tone Cassandra asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m-“ she tries and fails to stifle her noise of pain when she finally gets the shirt off. _“Fine!”_

“I’m coming in,” Cassandra decides, opening the door and striding in.

Struck with shock, she stands in the doorway for longer than necessary. Subira’s dark skin is mottled with healing skin and bloody gauze. She resembles a yellow, bruised apple in some places and her stitches stick out of her bandages in others. 

In only her breast band, Subira crosses her arms over her chest, feeling self conscious and trying to cover her... everything. All of the sensitive parts of her _(her heart, lungs, ribs)_ are open right now,and it’s always unnerving when she’s not readily armed in the presence of someone else. Old habits die hard.

“Yeah?” Subira sticks her bottom lip out stubbornly.

Cassandra clears her throat, remembering why she came up in the first place. “I wondered if we might talk, Inquisitor.”

“Can we do it later? I’m kind of in the middle of something,” Subira snaps, leaning on her bedpost to try and shimmy her pants down her leg only to bite her lip in pain.

Cassandra takes a hesitant step forward. “Allow me to help?”

Subira glares at her. Then, with a huff, plops back onto the bed and spreads her arms wide in defeat. “Fine.”

Like approaching a scared animal, Cassandra walks slowly towards her and kneels, first removing her boots and setting them aside, then helping her with the breeches.

“Do you still need help?”

Subira looks away and mutters, “... No.”

“Josephine said she was coming up later,” Cassandra raises an eyebrow. “Was it to help you?”

She swears. “Okay, fine. My bandages.”

Cassandra helps unwrap her bandages and hisses at the gnarly wounds underneath.

“I can get to the bath,” Subira assures, standing and immediately wobbling to the side. 

She would’ve toppled over had Cassandra not caught her arm with a gentle hand and pulled her to her side. The older woman guides her to the bath, and when they get there Subira shrugs off the help and immediately throws off her underthings and painfully climbs into the water. Cassandra turns away in a rush, muttering about the girls lack of decency.

There’s an extended, heavy silence. And then, “Can you... can you pass me the wash cloth?”

Cassandra turns. In the bath, with her knees drawn to her chest and flakes of dried blood falling into the water to turn it a very light pink, Subira looks so incredibly small and vulnerable. Her eyes are tired and sunken, almost squinting to stay awake. Cassandra kneels by the bath, washcloth in hand, but she does not hold it out to her.

“Let me clean your wounds,” Cassandra says softly, features gentle. “You’re tired.”

Subira just nods and leans against the side of the tub, far more tired than she had let on. Gently, the warrior begins to rub in soft circles over the wound on her back. Subira tenses at first and then slumps, releasing a harsh breath when the cloth moves away to other wounds and dried blood and dirt on her skin.

Through the tense silence, Cassandra asks _why._

“Why what?” Subira replies tiredly, eyes closed and head pounding with the hot water increasing her pulse.

“Why did you not tell us the truth?” Cassandra elaborates quietly.

Subira snorts, dropping her head back onto the rim of the tub in some mock defeat. “If I had told you the truth, you’d have locked me up because I could’ve been responsible for the Conclave. Because I’m a trained assassin? There’s a thousand reasons why. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Cassandra sighs in frustration, but her hands remain gentle. “I thought you trusted us. I thought you trusted _me.”_

Subira deflates and bites her lip. “I did - I _do_ ,” her voice is a whisper. “I just... I thought you wouldn’t want me around anymore if you found out who I was. What I’ve done.”

Cassandra stops and stares at the girl in the tub, how she angrily wipes away the tears that fall down her cheeks.

“Come, lets get you out of the bath,” Cassandra says quietly, grabbing a large robe to wrap her in. 

When she’s stood, Subira steps into the towel-like robe. And then Cassandra wraps her in a bear-like hug, just as fierce in loving as she is in battle, and her heart beating fast under the teenagers ear. 

“I will _always_ want you around... Subira,” Cassandra says fiercely, her voice breaking a bit. “Nothing you have done will _ever_ change that.”

Upon hearing this, Subira’s lip trembles. She buries her face into Cassandra’s front and clutches her back tighter. _I love you,_ she thinks suddenly. _I have never loved anyone before. Is this what having family feels like?_

“We must talk about the letters that Solas gave us, however,” Cassandra says as she helps the girl to her bed.

Subira curses in Rivaini, Antivan, and any language she can think off of the top of her head. A qunlat curse she picked up from Bull slips off her tongue and Cassandra admonishes her on reflex as she paces the length of her bed, her arms crossed in front of her.

“They were... I thought I would die,” Subira shrugs it off, looking into the fire across the room. “They don’t mean anything.”

“They don’t mean anything?” Cassandra makes her disgusted noise. “These were more or less suicide notes, Subira-“

“Yeah, okay, whatever!” Subira explodes, turning to look Cassandra in the eye. The fire roars, crackling and sparking.

“Is that what you wanted? I knew. I felt... I knew what would happen. I came to terms with it weeks before we went to Adamant. I kept having these awful dreams... I was ready, okay? What else do you want me to say? Would you have preferred I died and left you all nothing?”

Cassandra’s face lost all color and she clasped a hand over her mouth gravely, staring intently at Subira.

“Why did you not tell Solas? Or anyone?”

Subira does not reply. The fire dies down again.

“Answer me!” Cassandra demands, water glittering in her eyes.

“I have done everything alone,” Subira replies lowly, refusing to look the woman in the eye.

“You aren’t alone anymore, Subira!” Cassandra exclaims in frustration. “How many times do I have to tell you-“

“You can tell me as many times as you want,” Subira hisses, clutching the bedsheets between her hands. Her lips tremble. “But I must _always_ prepare to be alone. My trainers always told me to rely on myself, because no one would ever help me except me. Do you know how they taught me that?”

Fade-Green and golden veridium swirl like a typhoon in her eyes. Deep forest green flares up her left arm, crawling and clawing its way through her veins.

“They taught me,” Subira snarls, her tongue thick with anger and emotion, “by praising my work for weeks, looking the other way when I stole rations instead of punishing me as they should have. And then, in the middle of the night they threw me and one of my teammates into a locked room, a knife for each of us-“

_“Stop,”_ Cassandra orders, but it’s more like begged. “Just - stop.”

“I am a Crow,” Subira states pleadingly with tears in her eyes, her voice creaking. “And I lived. I passed initiation. I wrote the letters because I have known what would befall me my entire life.”

“That’s not... Subira, that’s not true. Tell me you know that’s not true,” Cassandra says, her voice dry and eyes glistening, becoming closer and closer to spilling.

“It is,” Subira replies hoarsely. “It is. I’ve been born to die alone.”

Leliana, standing in the doorway of her quarters, looks on both uncomfortably and sympathetically.

“Welcome to my life story, Spymaster! Please, come in,” Subira snaps in frustration, the fire flaming and combusting in response.

“I looked further into your background,” Leliana says without care for the girls glare, even as the fire grows steadily stronger and electricity begins to crackle at her finger tips. “Your group of Crows... none of them survived, except for you.”

Subira stubbornly looks away, refusing to answer that with a confirmation or denial.

Leliana continues anyway, albeit softly and not nearly as harsh as she would have been months ago. “Your instructor, while I could not find a name, is no longer living, as far as I know,” the Spymaster hums. “Interesting.”

“There were _two_. They’re both dead,” she corrects snappily, clutching her stomach. “I killed her. I killed her and I don’t feel - anything. I just kept going until she stopped breathing and I kept going and kept going and kept going and-“

Her breathing is erratic now, overwhelmed by the memory of blood and tissue and the humid heat of that day, remembering how her gasping, broken breaths had stopped and how when she was done, she was no longer recognizable.

She has her eyes squeezed shut and her hands clamped over her ears. The fire is quickly becoming too powerful to be contained within a small fireplace and lightning is firing off static from her finger tips.

A slightly cold hand placed itself over her eyes. Cole. Who is Cole?

“Follow my voice.”

_ Your... voice? _


	69. Maybe I’m Not Willing To Let It Go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparation for Promise of Destruction is now underway, and just a little bit of fluff mixed in here before some angst. You know how it be with me.

Where am I?

Oh. I know where I am.

_ Antiva, the end of the summer, and this year she’s turned fourteen. There’s blood dripping from a cut across her brow and sweat on her arms and torso, making her clothes stick uncomfortably to her skin. _

_ She grunts as her instructor, Via, drags her to the door by her hair, but no more, because crying out leads to more punishment. _

_ “What have I told you about stealing?” _

_ “If you’re going to steal food, don’t get caught,” Subira uttered her teaching back to her, eyes trained on the floor. _

_ “And you couldn’t do that,” Via mocks, opening the door and shoving her inside, locking it behind them as she stumbles down the steps. “Well, what is your punishment going to be?” _

_ Her stomach still aches from where her initiation had gone wrong and she finds herself with no energy to stay standing, falling to her knees. She glares up at her instructor with hateful eyes _

_ “Oh, don’t look so angry,” Via laughs with a pout. “It’s so cute.” _

_ Subira grits her teeth and looks steadfastly at the floor, just waiting for it to be over and feeling her blood boil inside her veins. _

_ Flames are licking up her fingertips, unable to smother them. “Ooh, you’re really angry this time, aren’t you? Well, go on!” Via laughs, her hazel eyes bright and challenging. “Use it.” _

_ Subira clenches her fist and puts the flame out. _

_ “Oh, what, why not?” Via pulls Subira up from the floor forcefully, pushing on her shoulder. “Do it.” _

_“No.”_

_ “No?” Her smile fades, replaced by steel-sharp anger. “Don’t  _ ever _ tell me no.” _

_ She smacks her across the face and Subira does not react, stumbling to the side. _

_ “Go to the void,” she mutters, spitting blood. _

_ “What if I leave you down here, hm?” Via’s eyes are menacing. “Just like when you were little. I used to hear your those screams until they’d stop when you’d cry yourself out. And what did you learn? That no one was coming for little Subira-“ _

_ Blood spurts out of her stomach and Via gasps, a small drip of blood flowing down her chin. She tries to react but the blade is ripped out and thrust in again, and again, and again. When Via collapses to her knees, Subira follows, her head bent, almost as if in prayer. _

_ Via laughs weakly, blood bubbling on her lips and splattering Subira’s face. “Feels better, right, velasco? Get your anger out. Carve out that hole inside yourse... lf...” _

_ Subira keeps stabbing. She doesn’t remember where she got the knife from - only that she stole it and kept it on her for emergencies. It was in her waistband and then her hand and then it was in Via’s stomach again and again and again... _

_ “You were the only one who pet my hair when I did good,” Subira sobs, blade still in the woman’s stomach. _

Follow my voice _. _

_ It’s still so faint, she shakes her head, hands clasped around the blade and bent over her mentors body. _

_ “You hated me and I hated you but you still told me you were proud of me sometimes,” she slams one of her fists into the stone floor. “Why?” _

_The body on the floor doesn’t reply. Her face is covered in blood and so is the floor. Subira’s face is blotchy and puffy_.

Follow me, Subira.

”Cole?”

I am right here. We are here.

Disoriented, she comes back to herself, her ears ringing. The blood is no longer is on her hands and the skin isn’t on her clothes, but she’s in her bed in Skyhold and there’s the fire is in the fireplace. There are tears on her face and her nose is stuffy.

Cole sits next to her, calmly. Cassandra paces the length of her room, Leliana kneels next to her bedside, Josephine stands in the doorway, perhaps finally having come up to help with her bandages.

“Via?”

Cole shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs. “You are not there. Not anymore.”

“Not... no more?”

“No more,” he agrees, looking to Leliana with wide, imploring eyes.

Leliana slowly approaches and sits in front of Subira on the bed and she reaches up to gently wipe away her tears. “It’s... it’s alright,” she murmurs, unsure of how to go about this. “It will be alright.”

Subira launches herself at Leliana, hiccuping and shaking and barely coherent, but desperate to hear those words from someone. Leliana wraps her arms around her tightly and rubs her back, humming a soft tune. 

Subira leans into her and untenses over time, nuzzling into Leliana’s neck. “Thank you,” she murmurs, basically curled up in her lap.

“For what?” The Spymaster asks quietly. 

Josephine encourages Cassandra to halt her pacing and sit on the couch in front of the fire. They strain their ears to listen when the small voices begin to speak.

“For being here. Thank you.”

Cole smiles and murmurs, _“Warmth and a gentle heartbeat. Not so cold after all.”_

His words remind them of his presence, but no one seems to mind. He seems to calm Subira from her episodes and that’s enough for them.

Cassandra and Josephine make their way to the bed, hesitantly. Subira peeks one eye over Leliana’s shoulder.

Josephine smiles and reaches out to brush her hand over the girls head. “Ah, _preciosa_. Feeling better?”

Subira blushes and buries her face in Leliana’s shoulder again.

Cassandra laughs softly and sits next to Leliana, sobering once she’s in front of the Inquisitor. “Are you... alright, Subira?”

“... I will be,” she replies, voice strained. “I will be. I’m sorry you had to read those letters. I thought... I don’t know.”

Cole sighs, the melancholy clear in it. _“Not my burden to bear if I lay in a grave... or burning parchment will mark the day I live rather than die, and no more will I speak of it.”_

“Insightful,” Leliana quips, trying to lighten the mood.

“He’s right,” Subira sighs, muffled by Leliana’s shoulder. She hides red rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks in her tunic. “If I died, it was no longer my problem. If I lived, then I burned them and got over it.”

“You were content to what, stew in your emotion? Not talk about this to anyone?” Cassandra asks incredulously.

“Yes?” Subira asks back, confusion in her voice. One of her eyebrows - the not singed one - is raised over the curve of Leliana’s shoulder at the Nevarran woman.

Josephine shushes Cassandra gently. “I am simply glad you have returned to us in one piece again.”

Subira smiles and nods against Leliana’s shoulder.

_ Maybe I don’t have to be alone anymore. _

* * *

“Oh, my Hyundai, I’ve missed you so much!” Subira coos, scratching the spot right behind his ear and making him shake his head up and down. “I know, it’s been so long my baby. Have you missed me?”

Hyundai presses his snout into her chest and snorts, flicking his ears back and forth. She smiles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She looks back and forth and then leans in with a grin and a twinkle in her eye. “How about you and I go for a walk?”

She’s still sore, but they’re due to go out to the Exalted Plains in just a week. She can ride her own horse, dammit!

“Down,” she commands, and he snorts, lowering himself onto the ground. “Good boy! Who’s my good boy?!”

She lathers him in love and kisses, scratching his favorite place behind his ears. Then she mounts and wraps her arms around his neck, breathing in deeply.

“Up,” she whispers. Just as gingerly, he raises up from the barn floor and shakes himself off, snorting happily that his rider is back.

“Okay, honey, lets go.”

The sun is still barely risen, it should be easy to exit Skyhold for a short ride. She presses her calves into Hyundai’s sides just barely and he begins to walk, following her lead based on where she presses.

“Ho, Hyundai, Ho,” her words are hushed, but his ears flicker back and forth and he stops, halting on top of a hill once they’ve snuck out of the keep successfully. The sun is finally rising and it’s an explosion of scarlets, persimmons, daffodils and golds, all tangled together like a water color but so achingly real.

“Wow, Hyundai,” she breathes, eyes wide and every breath creating condensation on the wind. “Isn’t that gorgeous?”

He snorts - either in agreement or just in response to her voice, she’s inclined to think agreement - and she pats his neck fondly.

“Let’s go back now buddy.” She gently presses him in the direction of Skyhold.

Hyundai whinnies and takes up a trot at her command, going back to Skyhold based on memory.

Sneakily, they walk through the shadows of the keep upon their return, everyone just starting to wake up. The Inquisitor in a cloak and her pajamas is surely a scandal, so she needs to assure she isn’t seen.

She makes it back into the stables without being caught and placed Hyundai in his stall and breathes a sigh of relief, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Phew,” she laughs, and he snorts, pressing his snout to the top of her head. “We really outdid ourselves that time, huh?”

When she turns to latch the gate - after giving Hyundai his grain, hay, and water for the day and picking the stall - she comes face to face with Cassandra, her hands on her hips and an unamused expression on her face.

“Uh, _woops?”_

“Indeed,” Cassandra sighs, frustration evident. “Go get ready for training. _Now.”_

She knew better than to test Cassandra when she was in one of her Moods, especially after she had caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to, so she hauled culo back to her room to get ready for her regular training with Cassandra and Cullen.

“What are we going to do with her?” Cassandra mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“What can you do with her?” Blackwall asks, leaning against a support pillar in the barn. “She’s going to do what she wants regardless, Seeker.”

Cassandra growls in annoyance. “I wish she’d take more care for herself, is all.”

Blackwall laughs. “She knows her limits. If she couldn’t do what she did this morning, she wouldn’t.”

The Seeker glares in his direction and he rolls his eyes. “Alright, maybe she would. But the lass wouldn’t push herself too far, one can hope.”

“One can hope, Warden,” Cassandra mutters as she walks away. “One can hope.”

* * *

“Cassandra, Inquisitor, thank you for joining me,” Leliana greets pleasantly. “To cut straight to the point: I have located the missing Seekers.”

“Really?” Cassandra immediately shows interest, like a fire appearing over her head.

The Spymaster inclines her head, pointing to a marked location on a map. “Caer Oswin.”

“Caer Oswin?” Subira asks in clear confusion, causing both women to look at her in amusement. “Isn’t that owned by that stuffy Bann Loren? Terribly fickle man.”

“Disregarding the nature of how you may have obtained that information,” Leliana remarks in good humor, her lips quirked up imperceptibly, “That is where the Seekers are. I suspect Bann Loren has no idea. It is also where Lord Seeker Lucius has been seen last.”

Subira feels as if she’s been struck by lightning when Leliana utters the name Lord Seeker Lucius.

“Inquisitor? Are you alright?”

“Postpone the mission to the Exalted Plains,” Subira replies, eyes focused on the map. “We’re going to Caer Oswin.”

Cassandra and Leliana exchange an uneasy glance. “Are you sure that is wise, Your Worship?”

Subira does not flinch. “We’re going to Caer Oswin,” she repeats slowly. “We will go to the Exalted Plains following that.”

Leliana nods slowly, looking to the Seeker, who shrugs. “I’ll inform the rest of the Council.”

“Good, we leave in two days,” Subira informs them, leaving with determined steps down the stairs. “Oh, by the way, Bull says the Qun wants to meet with me!”

Leliana rubs her hand across her forehead, feeling an oncoming headache as she prepares to summon Bull to the rookery to talk. “That girl is going to give me a heart attack.”

Cassandra laughs dryly as she also departs, turning to say, “I’m certain we all will have significantly higher blood pressure when this is all over.”

* * *

“Psst,” Subira whispers from the side to Bonny Sims, and the Orlesian woman turns to acknowledge her.

“Hm?”

The hooded Subira looks back and forth before leaning closer. “Did my gift come in yet?”

“Oh! Yes, Inqui - _Esteemed customer,”_ she corrects, remembering what the girl had asked her: I’m trying to keep this lowkey, it’s a gift for Satinalia! Can you help me?

Of course, Bonny Sims found her endearing and could not resist. It took her weeks, but the gift finally was delivered to her just a few days ago: the original Montilyet family crest.

Bonny Sims pulls an inconspicuous box from under the stand and hands it to the cloaked girl, glad her fond smile is hidden behind her mask. “Here you go, Inquisitor.”

“What do I owe you?”

“Nothing, my dear,” she says sweetly. “Take it free of cost. Anything for the Inquisition.”

The Inquisitor launches herself at Bonny Sims and at first, the Orlesian woman fears that the child lost it, but it is simply a hug. A hug.

Oh, this is... so dear, so sweet. She gently hugs the girl back, like she is a precious dove who may break.

“There,” the teenager smiles up at her. “Paid?”

Bonny Sims finds herself smiling back, even if the girl cannot truly see it. “Paid in full. Thank you for your business.”

The Inquisitor scrambles off and Bonny Sims turns back to her business to see several people milling around and gaping.

“Staring is unbecoming!” Bonny huffs in irritation. “Get back to your business.”

Subira giggles as she scuttles back to her chambers, past the attendants and Sera, dodging the curious hands of Cullen who intended to tickle her and no doubt interrogate her on her mysterious package. She hides it with all the other gifts she’s accumulated, with many more to come.


	70. Hold Me Close.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promise of Destruction. Cassandra and Subira have a bit of a rift (haha) between them. Poor Cass isn’t the best with emotions, huh?

The end party is Cassandra, Cole, Dorian and Subira. If Varric came along she knows that he’d only inadvertently end up agitating Cassandra on what is a sensitive mission for her, and she knows that she and Dorian have formed a strange friendship. She also knows that Cassandra is fond of Cole now, and could prove invaluable - if the visions she saw at Adamant are to be believed.

The party is tight-knit and protective of each other, which is probably why, when the air around them became oppressive as they approached Caer Oswin, they began traveling closer together, suspicious and weapons close by their twitching hands.

It was almost a full ten days there, and aside from the usual traveling troubles - _spiders, chill, and bears_ \- it was fine, until they began to approach the Caer. It gave her full body chills, and her head was so muffled and full of white noise that her vision felt like it was being rained on, blurry and slow to render.

When they dismounted in front of the Caer and approached the doors, Cole began murmuring about evil and infection and impurity, and how _they_ ( _who were_ they? _These ominous faceless beings who they grew closer to with every step?_ ) wanted to rid the world of impurity.

Even Dorian seemed off kilter - _Dorian!_ \- and Cassandra seemed extremely uneasy. When they entered what looked like the dungeon of the Caer...

... An extremely ready, and angry, soldier waited for them. With many others just like him. Subira fought with daggers still, but now she incorporated magic with no hesitance.

One man attempts to overpower her with brute strength; her eyes flare with bright lightning and she leans down, thrusting her hand into the puddle he stands in, frying him in his suit of armor. His screams die out in moments and she turned to the next soldier.

When the battle ended, Cassandra inspected the armor of the fallen men and women and cursed creatively in Nevarran. “The Order of Fiery Promise... of course.”

“Who are they?” Subira asks curiously, looting through the dead bodies for anything - _oh, a key!_ She hands it to Cassandra quietly, deferring to her for this mission.

“They’re a cult, for lack of better term,” Cassandra says with disgust, lips curling up. “Every few ages, another faction of them just appears, even after we stomp them out. They believe they are the true Seekers, and that we are corrupt. They wish to destroy the world, and that will be better than living.”

“Bright bunch they are,” Subira quips, moseying over to the door and waiting for the Seeker to unlock it. “Shall we?”

“Was it just me, or did those Promisers seem to be on Red Lyrium?” Dorian comments uneasily, looking back to the dungeon they just left.

“I noticed it too,” Subira replies, shuddering at the thought that she touched any of them.

“If the Promisers truly have their hands on red lyrium, we are in more danger than I thought,” Cassandra comments thoughtfully.

“These are... these are Seekers!” Cassandra gasps, kneeling by the cold corpses strewn across the hallway, littered with red lyrium. “How could the Seekers fall prey to Corypheus so easily?”

“Were those also Seekers we found in the dungeon then, Cassandra?” Subira asks in a small voice.

Cassandra swallows. “I suppose they were.”

The group continues on in silence. They make it to a courtyard with at least twenty Promisers and Seekers lingering, who come to arms as soon as they spot the party.

“Don’t kill the Seekers!” Subira shouts, slamming the pommel of her dagger into the helmet of a Seeker. He falls to the ground like a log; out cold, but not dead.

Dorian uses the blade of his staff to impale a Promiser and then creates a ring of fire around himself, grinning madly. “I know you all want to see me up close,” he teases gleefully. “There’s more than enough for everyone!”

Cassandra scoffs, though there is a tiny smile on her face.

The fight is long and hard, due to the Promisers being on Red Lyrium. One of them, a hulking beast of a man, has a large and obvious key on his waist. _Bingo!_

“Hey, Cassandra! Distract this dickhead real quick!”

Cassandra grunts and bangs her sword against her shield, gaining his attention. Subira darts in and slashes his belt, swiping the key and pocketing it.

“Thanks, buddy!” She cackles.

In retaliation, he whips around and backhands her into a wooden building.

“Ouch,” she wheezes, not having expected that, her still healing body very sensitive and her reflexes not quite as good since she’s been out of commission for a month or two.

Cassandra releases an enraged war cry and with Dorian and Cole’s help he goes down. They rush to Subira’s side, where she is shakily making her way to her feet.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

The key opens the courtyard and they finally enter the actual castle. Subira groans.

“More soldiers? For the love of...”

Subira creates ice in a large puddle and one soldier slips, unable to gain traction. She slides right into Cole’s blade, who takes a running start and plunges his blade into another unsuspecting Promiser turning the corner.

Cassandra snarls, goading Promisers to fight her. She’s surrounded by three, assuming they can overpower her. The Seeker easily overwhelms them and their blood coats her blade in minutes. They lay dead on the stone, body losing heat and blood seeping out.

“Let’s move on,” she grits out.

They follow her up the stairs, quickening their pace when she begins to run. When the rest of the party finally catches up with Cassandra, she’s slid to her knees next to a sickly looking young man in Seeker armor. He’s clearly going to die.

“Daniel!” Cassandra cries out, hands shaking as they hover around him, unsure where to go.

“Cass? Is that you?”

Subira feels the serpent of jealousy that sits in her sternum stir up and slither through her veins coldly, like ice, up to her neck and around her shoulders, making it hard to breathe.

She beats it back down with a very metaphorical stick, frustrated and feeling close to tears at her lack of control over these emotions. _Now is not the time for childish feelings of being left behind. This clearly important person is dying!_

“Daniel, you should’ve come with me,” Cassandra sniffles, clutching his weak hand in her strong one. She’s a beacon of strength for his fading life force.

He smiles very faintly, coughing up inhuman colored dark phlegm. “You know how I am. Really wanted that promotion.”

Cassandra smiles at him with watery eyes and opens her mouth to reply, but he interrupts.

“They put a demon inside me, Cass,” he gasps as another wave of pain flows through him. “Fed me things, I-“

“That’s not possible!” Cassandra denies, eyes roaming the black veins bulging out of his head, the deathly pale palor.

He shakes his head. “I’m going mad. I can feel it growing inside me.”

“Lyrium,” Subira murmurs, sure that they must have given the corrupted mineral to them. “They fed the Seekers red lyrium.”

Her mind races back to Redcliffe, when she watched Cassandra and Vivienne succumb to red lyrium and how their faces seemed so gaunt and hollow, their eyes empty. Though, this infection seems more akin to the Blight than red lyrium, making her think about her Spymaster.

Leliana had been fed the Blight, with purple-black veins and a skeletal appearance as she became closer and closer to a ghoul, the darkspawn blood permanently changing her.

Her heart aches for this young man, who was clearly so full of potential if Cassandra cared so much about him, be destroyed by... _this._

“Lord Seeker Lucius,” Daniel looks up at Cassandra desperately, the gasping breaths indicating how close he was to leaving them.

She nods, “Yes, Daniel, when I find him, we will-“

“No, Cass,” he coughs, leaning up as much as he can and whispering fiercely, “it was him. He lead the Seekers here. Said it was an important mission. Lies! He sold the Seekers to the Promisers, Cassandra. They’re working for some... being. The Elder One.”

Cassandra pales, and then the fierce anger returns, followed by determination and promise. “I will find him, and I will end him. For the Seekers.”

Daniel smiles, looking at peace, before adopting a somber expression. “Cass, please. Before you go...”

She shakes her head, horrified. “Daniel,  _please...”_

“Don’t make me die like this,” he whimpers. He looks every bit a scared young man, and something in his eyes must convince her.

She releases a breathy, cry-laugh and whispers, “you should have come with me,” one more time.

Taking a deep breath, she whispers a prayer over him. Then she stands, draws her sword, and Daniel is no more. Without saying another word, she storms down the hallway, fury in her eyes and sword shaking in her grip.

“Cassandra!” Subira calls. “Cassandra!”

“What?!” The Seeker demands, turning on her heel and snarling.

Subira shrinks back. “I just... thought you should take a minute...”

“What I need to do is find Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra snaps, turning back and storming off.

Dorian places a comforting hand on Subira’s shoulder, seeing the tears that welled up in her eyes, but she shrugs him off and continues forward. Cole is unusually silent, the song all around him making his thoughts too loud.

* * *

“We Seekers are abominations, Cassandra!” Lucius implores with wide eyes, much like a madman, pleading with her to believe in his nonsense.

“Like your deal with Imshael?” Subira snaps, a bit eager to get to the bottom of the pesky demon who had pestered her for weeks before he vanished.

Lucius bristles, stumbling back from her accusation as if it were acid. “How do you - that means nothing,” he snarls, making a cutting motion through the air. “Lord Seeker Lambert knew what went on in Kirkwall, Cassandra. You wish to know what caused the White Spire? The Rite of Tranquility can be reversed.” He slides a giant book with the trademark symbol of the Seekers on it to her. “Read it. Know I tell the truth. The only way to fix our mess is to destroy this world and start again!”

“You’re wrong,” Cassandra snarls, throwing herself at Lucius. He was no match against her brutal blows.

The battle is a blur. Cassandra is a battering ram and practically covers herself in gore and blood, killing everything that moves near her. Lucius is left on the ground, breathing shallowly and wheezing, blood gushes out of him until it’s only flowing slowly. He takes his last breaths painfully.

And then, when it’s over and Cassandra stands there in the carnage, she simply says tiredly, “let’s go home.”

* * *

Upon their return, Cassandra holed up in the forge with that awful book. Subira does not speak much, either. She writes a report about the trip, with Cole’s help, and together they inform the Council about what befell the Seeker Order.

Subira plans the trip to the Exalted Plains, with a quick stop to the Storm Coast first to meet the Qun contact. Her party as of now is going to be Dorian, Bull, and Cole. 

For once she has some free time, and she’s lazily walking by Solas’ veranda when he stops her.

“I have a favor to ask of you, da’lan,” he asks in a near frantic tone, his hands trembling just a bit.

“Of course,” she replies in the serious tone she’s taken to lately, focused solely on her duties as Inquisitor and little else. “Anything.”

“A friend of mine - she is trapped. In the Exalted Plains, I know you are planning to go-“

“Solas, take a deep breath,” she instructs.

“A spirit of wisdom,” he begins when he has taken a few steadying breaths, and now he paces. “She called out to me in my dreams, and she is in trouble. Please, Inquisitor-“

Subira interrupts him, moving forward to stop his pacing and grab his hands in hers. “You can come with us. We must go meet with the Qun first, but we will go save your friend. I promise.”

Solas’ face relaxes into relief and he grasps both of her cheeks gratefully. “Thank you, _da’lath’in,”_ he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recap  
> da’lath’in - little heart


	71. Always Stuck in My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flash-back to pre-Promise of Destruction at the beginning, Subira does judgement and defends her actions.

_ [9:42 Dragon, Pre-Promise of Destruction.] _

“Presenting to you Magister Livius Erimond,” Josephine says clearly, eyes focused on Subira for a moment, betraying her diplomatic neutrality. “His crimes...”

Subira stares at his snarl, the proud and angry look on his face. All she wants to do is make him hurt. Is that the right decision? No.

_ But... The Elder One can’t reach him if... _

“Your Worship?”

Subira clears her throat. “Your actions have no punishment with an equal. You say you will be joined with your master if you die, and if you rot I may as well find you gone by the morrow,” she says, stroking her chin in thought. Her eyes analyze the now nervous twitch of his brow.

“Livius Erimond, for your crimes against the Inquisition and terrorism against Thedas, I sentence you to tranquility-“

The Hall becomes a riot. Things like _he cannot he made tranquil because of his actions_ and _what standard are we setting,_ but she pays them no mind.

“You will be fed, you will be taken care of, you will _live,”_ she thunders out, standing and even in her short form, she towers over the Hall of people watching her judgement, a shadow cast over her from her chair. “But I refuse to give Corypheus a chance to claim an ally back. This is my final decision.”

Erimond shouts various angry things, struggling against the guards and begging for mercy, but Subira stares back at him. “I am sorry, Erimond,” she calls, almost emotionless, but there is a spark of regret in her eyes. “But I can’t take that risk.”

When the doors slam closed and the crowd has settled down she slumps into her chair and buries her gloved hands into her hair. Josephine clears her throat.

“The Mayor of Crestwood, Your Worship?”

Subira nods, lifting her head. “Bring him in.”

* * *

In the end, she takes mercy on him. Cullen insists she doesn’t have to watch when they cut his head off, but she does. If she’s going to live with her decisions, she must watch them happen.

Their exchange as she sentenced him to death in the Hall replays through her mind as she stands on her balcony.

“I - I was desperate, I could not convince anyone to leave a sick child or family member-“

Subira sees the tears glittering in his eyes, the weathered guilt that has been burned into his skin. He has suffered enough for his choice.

Will she have to make those decisions one day? To save the rest, sacrifice the little? No.

She’ll sacrifice herself first before she lets that happen.

But, still...

She thinks about how her inner circle commended her on the decision. She drew away from them angrily and in disbelief.

“How can you believe this is a good thing? That man wanted to die. I gave him mercy. I was kind,” her voice had cracked, a tear slipping out of her eye.

Admittedly, judgement was far more difficult than she had anticipated it to be. Everything was, really. But judgement... it was very difficult to separate who you were and who you had to be. It hurt her.

They tried to comfort her, but she muttered about going to her rooms and locked herself up. She needs alone time, she needs quiet, she needs to think.

* * *

A few nights after her judgement day - they often set aside days for judgement - Subira had been standing on the battlements. This was also a few nights before Leliana informed them that she had tracked down the Seekers when Bull approached her.

These moments of peace were rare and she was still shaken over her judgements. She was wondering how dragons feel when they fly, when his large footsteps alerted her to his approach.

“Hello, Bull,” she had greeted politely. “What can I do for you?”

He sighed, deeply, like he’d been dreading this, had been putting it off and could not avoid it any longer. “We need to go to the Storm Coast. The Qun calls, we gotta answer.”

Her blood had gone cold, and she swallowed thickly. “I... suppose we can make time. I’ll bring it up with Leliana.”

She put off telling Leliana for a few days. She needed time to process.

Her mind had been racing since she found out they would be meeting with a representative of the Qun. Herah was a mess when they found her, and that was an understatement. Mages were not treated kindly under the Qun.

Flashes to the gory, threaded face she saw in the Fade at Adamant appear in her mind and she huffed, burying her face into a pillow to try and block it out.

What would Herah think of Bull?

_ Probably that he’s too big, even though she’s getting taller than me every day. _

Her eyes fill with tears. “I miss you,” she said out loud, her voice cracking. “I won’t give them anything. I promise.”

Cole appears next to her. _“Warm heart and warm hands._ She is more of a sister than a friend. You love her as any family that you would have had, and she you. You miss her.”

“I do,” Subira choked out into the pillow over her face, wishing that Herah was here all these months, so she could cry on her shoulder when she needed it or vent to her when things went bad or have her remind her not to do stupid things.

Cole did not reply. She tries to think of the better things. Flower crowns with Herah, the stars made of ice they put on cave walls, running through tall grass playing tag when they would pretend they were just kids.

And so when Leliana called Cassandra and Subira to the Rookery, she finally told her that the Qun intended to meet with them.

It is only then that they change course from the Exalted Plains to Caer Oswin, and then it becomes the Storm Coast - to meet the qunari contact, Gatt.

* * *

_[9:42 Post-Caer Oswin.]_

One of those sleepless nights after Caer Oswin, she tiptoes down the stairs of her quarters. It isn’t too late, but she’d prefer not to be bothered. Instead, Mother Giselle is the one who stops her.

“I simply thought that perhaps Altus Pavus should consider...”

“Consider what?” Subira asks in agitation, her eyebrow twitching. “His fathers ransom? ‘Come back to Tevinter with me! I have so many sovereigns you’ll be swimming!’”

Mother Giselle sighs. This, in her opinion, is why she had wanted to speak about the letter she received from Magister Pavus Sr. about Dorian Pavus with Seeker Pentaghast, but she was still reclusive after their excursion to Caer Oswin.

“Inquisitor, it was never my intention to upset you,” she tries to placate gently. “I simply think that Dorian should give his father a chance.”

“I think if he isn’t talking to his father, there’s a good reason!” Subira harrumphed, eyes blazing. “And if you think Cassandra would lie to him, that I would lie to him, you’re _wrong.”_

Letter gripped in hand, she stormed up the stairs to Dorian’s normal haunt in the library.

“Oh, my lovely ray of Inquisitorial sunshine,” he calls, hearing her stomping feet, and then his face falls into something more serious when he turns around the corner of the bookshelf. “Is everything alright?”

Subira shoves the letter into his hands. “Your father wants to meet with you. Mother Giselle wanted us to lie to you... ugh!”

She punches the bookshelf, immediately hissing in pain. Dorian tuts, snatching her wrist to inspect the damage.

“No broken bones - _this_ time,” he cajoles. “Now, what’s this I hear about my father?”

“He reached out to Mother Giselle, looking to reconcile with you,” Subira grumbles, plopping herself in Dorian’s normal seat. “And she wanted me to _lie_ to you. Can you believe that?!”

Dorian makes an unimpressed face. “From a Chantry type? Yes, I can. Why didn’t she go to someone else with this? You have enough on your plate.”

Even though he’s deflecting, it’s clear he’s upset. The contents of the letter seem to deeply unnerve him and he goes for his nearly empty glass of brandy, downing the rest.

“She _wanted_ to talk to Cassandra,” Subira huffs, rolling her eyes. “But you know how Cassandra has been since Caer Oswin.”

“Naturally,” he agrees, messing with his mustache.

“So she came to me, I guess. But I can’t believe she thought for a second that Cassandra would lie to you!”

Dorian hums like he himself doesn’t quite believe it but wouldn’t quite put it past her. _Ugh, trust issues_ , she thinks spitefully. 

“Preposterous, indeed. Well, I suppose I should meet him,” he replies, still fiddling with his mustache thoughtfully.

“You want to?” Subira tilts her head. “I just figured...”

“I’d rather meet him and not get kidnapped if I don’t,” Dorian quips playfully, though his eyes hold a hard seriousness that she nearly misses. “Don’t worry, _carrisima_ , I don’t think any Tevinter would be able to get past our dear Spymasters agents.”

Subira still looks mildly worried. “We’ll... send a return letter on our way back from the Exalted Plains. Sound good?”

Dorian runs a hand over her head. “Sounds fine, _carrisima_.”

“I’m going to go see Josie,” she smiles, hopping off his seat and walking off, pulling reports out of a pocket in her jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> carissima - this is Latin for “dearest”


	72. Tranquilize my Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House of Repose encounter and we close the door on Dorian’s quest for a bit! Subira cannot Catch A Break. Don’t worry though, she’s going on vacation soon. A work related vacation, but a vacation all the same!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I didn't realize I had a chapter in drafts. Oh well. Enjoy!

Mother Giselle paused her the next day. “Inquisitor, if we may?”

Subira stopped, trying with everything in her to have patience. She inclined her head.

“I simply wanted to apologize,” Mother Giselle says softly. “I did not mean to... well. I have been... informed of Dorian’s predicament. If I had realized just exactly what his father was trying to do, I would not have participated. You have my sincerest apologies.”

Subira furrows her brows. “That’s great and all, Mother Giselle, but you should tell Dorian this.”

“I should, shouldn’t I?” she says calmly, admitting defeat gracefully and turning her eyes with purpose to the direction of the stairs. “You’re right, Inquisitor. I will do just that. Have a blessed night.”

Mother Giselle pats the girl gently on the head as she leaves, something Subira always loves that she does. Every other Revered Mother has just whacked her.

The first time Mother Giselle tried to pat her head, she ducked away, and then sheepishly apologized when the woman just blinked, startled.

But she especially is fine with it right now, because she’s remorseful and since she’s about to corner Dorian to apologize. She imagines his startled expressions as Mother Giselle shows him genuine kindness with delight.

It’s rather late, truth be told. Mother Giselle had caught her at a time of day where less people frequented the Great Hall so that she wouldn’t crowd the Inquisitor.

She knows Josephine to be working, however, as she always is. Subira fondly rolls her eyes, and then she frowns when she hears a struggle and words that make her blood freeze, throwing open the door.

“The House of Repose sends their regards,” the man says with a thin smile that Subira can barely see from the angle shes at.

An Inquisition Agent - _no, an assassin,_ her frantically beating heart tells her - is cornering Josephine behind her desk. Subira throws herself at the “agent”, papers forgotten.

Josephine shrieks. “ _Mija_ , no!”

The assassin grunts, trying to shake her off. She yanks one of her daggers from her belt and slashes, but the assassin dodges and parries. Josephine calls for help, over and over again, but this is her fight now.

Her magic is nowhere to be seen, sparks fly to the surface and grind underneath her skin and against the metal of her daggers, but somehow she can’t get it to work. If only she could incapacitate him, but for some reason nothing will work and her heart is racing and the stakes are so high she feels she may pass out. A bead of sweat rushes down her nose-

“The House of Repose, huh? Knew the Crows couldn’t stay away from the Inquisition for long,” Subira grunts, wincing when the assassin scores a hit on her cheek, feeling blood come to the surface.

“This is nothing personal, Inquisitor. Simply a contract. I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh, of course,” she agrees, a gleam in her eye as she launched herself at the assassin. They go flying into the wall, all jabbing hands and legs.

Subira ends up on top, one hand on the assassins throat and her dagger poised above her head.

Her eyes harden and she tightens her hand around the assassins throat and her legs around their torso. “But _you_ must understand: I’ll never allow anyone to hurt my family.”

The dagger comes down into the assassins throat once, twice. There are tears rolling down her cheeks and the blade lingering in her trembling hand that hovers above the assassins still warm body is dripping blood. She’s staring down at him expressionlessly. Her ears are ringing.

_ Is the danger gone? _

A hand touches her shoulder and she doesn’t think, she reacts. Cullen expects it, though, and disarms her before she can kick his feet out from under him.

When Subira realizes it’s Cullen, she goes limp, adrenaline leaving her body shaking. He hushes her, hurries her off of the body, and rubs her back soothingly, insisting its over.

She feels numb.

Leliana does the same for Josephine, who, for someone who didn’t get assassinated, is a shaking mess.

Subira looks at the assassin. He’s familiar. Of course, working for Orlesians, but definitely associated with the Crows. Her skin tingles unpleasantly and her blood crawls under her skin and she wants to throw up her insides.

Cassandra bursts into the room breathlessly. “What in the Makers name happened in here?”

“An assassin came for Josephine,” Leliana fills in, stroking the Ambassadors hair.

“Why on Thedas would an assassin come for her?” Cullen inquires, still holding Subira tightly.

“The assassin said something about a contract... the House of Repose?” Subira tells them, still staring at the corpse.

“We can figure out what to do about Josephine’s predicament after. What we should be worrying about is how he got in.” Cassandra grunts, arms crossed in front of her.

Leliana sighs, shifting her legs anxiously. “My agents found a guard dead nearby. It must’ve been that. We’ll double the guards, tighten our rotations...”

“Is the Inquisitor alright?” Josephine asks, unable to see Subira well from where Cullen practically clings to her - okay, she practically clings to him.

“The Inquisitor is fine,” Subira answers with no humor. “I know him, though.”

Everyone in the room turns to her immediately. Her eyes are stuck on him.

“Only briefly. Must’ve traded him from Antiva to Orlais,” she comments in a distant manner.

_ I really killed him so easily. _

It was to save Josephine.

_ I could’ve incapacitated him. _

You did what you had to.

_ I’m no better than him. _

Cullen steers her out of the room in a daze, with Leliana vowing to look more into this and Josephine admitting, while the door shuts behind her, that her couriers were killed weeks before Adamant.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asks, Cassandra falling into step on the other side.

“Yeah... I...” Subira fumbles for words, desperate to find her voice.

“Did I do the right thing?”

Cullen looks at her strangely. “Did you truly have a choice? He would have killed Josephine.”

“I could have just... stopped him. But I didn’t. I killed him.”

“This is bothering you a lot, isn’t it?” Cullen asks her seriously, stopping in the middle of the Great Hall and turning to face her.

When she doesn’t answer, he sighs deeply, and then he kneels in front of her. “Inquisitor - _Subira_. Sometimes, we must make decisions... decisions we don’t want to make, that we wish could have been different, but decisions that had to be made. My advice? Do not agonize over something that cannot be changed. If Josephine had gotten hurt, you’d be beside yourself, wildflower.”

She nods, feeling comforted even if for the slightest of moments. He nods, patting her shoulder gently before standing and continuing their walk to her quarters as if they hadn’t stopped at all.


	73. Full of Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subira and Co. Go on adventures to the Storm Coast to meet the Qun before the Exalted Plains. In the meantime, an attempt for an invitation to the Winter Palace is being made. Will allies and enemies (old and new) show their faces?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick ole’ thing. I don’t know how this is. I’ve been writing this scene for awhile and it’s still not feeling right but I’ve gotta get it posted. I’m working my way through the Exalted Plains right now.  
> Sorry progress kind of slowed, life got in the way. Other stuff also just made its way into my head and I let them out instead of just working on this, bc otherwise I would’ve lost the passion I have for this story. Don’t worry. I’m finishing Subira before college!
> 
> By the way I’ve done the “meet the qun” quest like once and watched it like once so... Canon is fake and I’ll write what sounds nice

They leave for the Storm Coast-Exalted Plains extended mission the following day, Josephine insisting there be no delay on her account. Subira had stuff to think about anyway, not that anyone stopped to ask, she thought bitterly, and agreed eagerly, to the surprise of everyone around.

A long a discussion in the Rookery, Leliana promises that she’ll send updates via raven, and that they will handle this.

The glint in her eyes told Subira she was serious.

Subira leaves Cassandra behind on this mission, and though she knows for some reason this frustrates the older woman, she does not address it with her the whole morning before they leave.

Indeed, when she heard the familiar heavy footsteps came up her stairs she hid as best as she could, leaving the door slightly ajar and pretending to be absent from her room, the candles extinguished.

She suspects Cassandra knew she was avoiding her, but the Seeker did not give chase further, leaving the girl to stew in her thoughts.

This brings her to now, not meeting any of their eyes as they depart for the Storm Coast. She knows most, if not all, of her Inner Circle stands to see them off, but she only looks down at her saddle and straightens her back. She’s in one of her moods, unhappy with life in general and deeply troubled by many things.

The Chargers will come with them to the Storm Coast, but return to Skyhold from there with correspondence and such. She wishes they’d come with to the Plains and make it more interesting, but they have ‘ _stuff_ ’ to do.

Hyundai takes her attention now, too thrilled to be out on the field again, pawing and snorting before the gates even open. Fondly, she pats his neck and inhales the mountain air as they wait.

She nods when the gate is open. “Alright, Inquisition. Bull, will you do the honors?”

He smiles and then bellows, “Inquisition! Move!”

Hyundai charges at a canter out of the castle, cautious of his rider and her often delicate condition, but still excited. Bull, Dorian, Cole, Solas and the Chargers follow suit, as well as several agents who are changing posts.

Skyhold to the Storm Coast isn’t actually that long of a trip, but she’s unusually quiet throughout it. Cole mutters her rambling, tumbling thoughts to the ashes of the fire every now and then, but no one can make sense of needle and thread and fear and circles — for the most part.

The fear isn’t for her.

It’s for Herah. It’s always been for Herah. And a bit for her, she supposes, staring up at her tent. (Solas sleeps calmly on the other side. She always prefers to sleep in a tent with him when Cassandra isn’t around. He keeps her dreams quiet.)

How could she not be afraid of that? The idea of her mouth being sewn shut? Her eyes being taken? It horrified her, that Herah would’ve gone through that, that she had to run, that she’s now willingly meeting with the same organization of people who she had to fight off every couple of months when they picked up her friends trail. They don’t let go of mages too easily.

It’s scary for someone like her. She isn’t physically strong, not like Cassandra and especially not Bull. Herah is stronger than her, even, and she still could get hurt.

These thoughts crash against her mind, again and again, all the way to the Storm Coast. Just like the turbulent, icy waves that hit the rocky cliffsides.

Solas suspects there is much turmoil roiling through her, but instead of prying, he simply sits and encourages her to meditate with him — or, to sit and breathe, in her case. Sometimes, it helps. Sometimes, it does not. But the thought is comforting nonetheless.

When they arrive at the meeting place, she really can say she is thoroughly surprised. They built her up for this meeting — the Qun isn’t to be messed with, Bull was very thorough on this point, and even though she knew this, she took it all very seriously anyway.

Her armor, finely polished, with a staff on her back and vicious looking daggers attached to her waist. New concoctions — her own make, with a twist from their new Arcanist, Dagna — secured firmly to her belt.

But even still, done up like a doll, she’s sure her surprise is clear, unable to keep her mask in place.

* * *

Gatt is not what she expects to meet. She expects a large qunari with huge muscles and horns to match, not a small elven man.

“Pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor,” Gatt says, sizing her up immediately. “Hissrad says you’re doing good work. The Qun likes that.”

“Hissrad?” Bull had taught her minimal Qunlat on their trip from Haven to Skyhold to keep her occupied, and has done so ever since. “Your name is—“

“Yeah,” Bull grunts, looking rather nervous about the whole ordeal. “It is. Let’s get this going.”

Dorian sniffs haughtily, indicating the several words he has to say about this, but Subira silences him with a whack to his ankle with her staff.

“Okay, Bull,” she replies, looking past his shoulder instead of at his face.

Bull stayed with her, refusing to part from her side. He seemed nervous and his one eye was constantly on alert.

When their groups meet back up, she immediately knows something is wrong. The Chargers are a strong group and fight hard, but even Subira knows a lost cause.

When they’re nearly ready to charge, she pulls on Bull’s arm. “Bull,” she says urgently, her eyes wetting. “Bull, tell them to turn back. They’re going to die!”

Gatt shakes his head solemnly, eyes only for Bull and seemingly trying to have a conversation with him without words. “Hissrad, do what you must. For the Qun.”

Bull looks between Gatt and his men.

“Bull!” Subira begs, her voice cracking and she swallows, trying to continue. “Bull, I’m not commanding you. Bull, _please.”_

Bull stares down at her and closes his one eye. For a moment, she thinks he’s going to let them die, and she feels the loathing she’s always held for the Qun, for the Ben-Hassrath, bubble up and froth inside of her.

And then he mutters, “I’m sorry, Gatt. But I can’t lose my men.”

When he calls the retreat, Gatt becomes angry, spitting and sputtering in Qunlat too fast for Subira’s non-native ears to decipher, but he advances without any real intent to attack the large qunari.

Subira, in a split second decision, runs after the ship, eyes blazing. The ship isn’t that far away from the shore, and if she runs fast she can catch up to it. She darts out of the reach of Dalish’s reaching hands, narrowly avoids Bull’s leaping charge, and rolls out of the way of Skinner, Rocky and Stitches, causing them all to run into each other.

“You absolute fools,” Solas snaps, stabbing his staff in the ground securely and preparing to go off after her, but Bull puts his hand on his arm.

“What?” The elf snaps, pushing off his sandy hand.

“Wait for reinforcements. She’ll have ghost-boy. She’ll be okay.”

Solas opens his mouth to retort, huffs, and then nods. They turn their heads to watch with sharp eyes, both nearly ignoring what they just agreed on when they set eyes on the Inquisitor.

_ [like 15 seconds ago up to now, while Bull and Solas were doing that weird thing with tension] _

The wind whips in Subira’s hair this close to the tumultuous waters, her hair becoming dry with the salty sea spray and sticking to her cheeks. She climbs up to the highest vantage point she can, a large rock near the Venatori ship, and hesitates.

“Cole!” She shouts.

Nothing.

“Cole!” She tries again, somewhat impatiently with salty water in her lips and hair in her eyes and nose, “please, I know you’re around!”

He appears, though he anxiously plays with his hat. “That’s dangerous. What if you die?”

“I’ll be fine, I’ll fadestep the rest of the way. We don’t have time!”

Cole hesitates for only a moment more before he steps forward kneels, cupping his hands together. She nods, grateful, backing up a good distance. _Shit, the ship!_

It’s now or never. She takes a running start, placing one foot in Cole’s hand and letting him launch her before weaving through the Fade and the waking world, pushing her that extra distance to the ship. She just barely catches on, slamming her stomach on the outer edge, and she groans, but still clambers over and pulls her hood up, ready to turn this to stealth.

When she turns, Cole is behind her silently, and she doesn’t question it. The whole ship vibrates with the terrible energy of red lyrium and makes her nauseous, makes the mark want to _sleep—_

“Don’t listen to it,” Cole whispers as they’re seeking out targets. “Ignore the song.”

She nods and shakes her head to clear it. “You take that side, I’ll go this side. I’ll lure those two,” she pauses to point out two watchmen on the edges, “over to us, quietly. We get rid of them, rinse and repeat, and then we... do something with the boat.”

Cole nods before disappearing and she turns to make her way to her side, relishing in the shade of the shadows. She steps directly behind the man she’s going to take out and rolls her eyes, looking around for something small. An idea appears in her mind and she puts her hand in her bag before she shrugs, pulls it out, and then smashes an empty glass bottle down the middle of the walkway, darting silently to a safe distance away.

“Huh?” The first guy says, looking over for the noise.

“Did you hear that?” His buddy on the other side says, his footsteps becoming louder as he comes to investigate.

“Yeah, I don’t know what it was,” the other guy admits, coming to meet him now.  
  
Subira follows behind him, now meeting Cole’s eye with a nod. They each draw a blade at the same time and then they’re pulling the bodies over board, by their luck, another crew member came down the aisle and Cole pulled him over, and then a Red Templar came marching down.

“Is there someone down there?”

Her body tensed. What if he smites her and she doesn’t dodge it in time?

“If you’re back there, you know you shouldn’t be there,” the feet get closer, and she grits her teeth. Cole gets more uncomfortable as time progresses, eager to go at him, but she holds him back.

And then the Red Templar taunts, “I feel magic here. Is that a mage hiding on this ship? I’ll crush you—“

Cole appears in a flash of smoke, startling the ranting Templar man. He stumbles backwards, barely able to draw his sword as Cole darts forward. Subira curses, leaving her cover to join him, and worrying about how much noise they’re making.

The Red Templar is barely breaking a sweat because of his enhanced abilities, and he laughs menacingly when their blades cross, stooping to meet her eyes on her level.

“You’re the Inquisitor, aren’t ya? Got those weird eyes... You’re going to do me a favor,” he grins.  


Even as she pales she keeps her arms up, deflecting his blade and doing a fake-out towards his leg, then using her elbow to slam his giant helmet into his face. Her elbow is immediately on fire even through her armor, but the Red Templar shouts and stumbles backwards, dazed. It gives her the opportunity to look behind him, seeing the rest of the Venatori and Red Templars who noticed coming their way, five in total.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

* * *

“Shit, shit, shit!” Bull bellowed, hands on his horns. The Chargers collectively blinked, eyes wide and exchanging glances with each other. He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Look, reinforcements are here. And it looks like they already have a boat coming up along the side. We can move up the coast.”

Solas fumes quietly beside Bull, using his staff to navigate the stones and sand. When Solas stumbles, Bull goes to help, but Solas flattens his ears and tilts his chin up and away from him. Bull allows him to turn around and walk away silently, while the Chargers watch in awe. Bull never allows anyone to act like this. But Solas just... gets away with it. When Dalish nudged him purposefully with a glance, he snorted and then shrugged, and refused to say more on it.

Subira and Cole are still cornered, not taking their opponents down as much as fending them off and losing ground fast. Down on the coast, Solas makes a high, frustrated noise and tries to move faster, but nearly collides with the rocky terrain. Bull stops him from falling, a large hand on his slender arm, and he huffs out a rather petulant, “my thanks,” before they continue, watching anxiously as the boat is boarded by Inquisition soldiers.

Subira’s eyes dart nervously back and forth as she searches for an escape route, momentarily distracted and nearly tripping over her own feet when a behemoth swings at her. She dodges, the breath in her body leaving as if she’d been punched, and then throws her weight up and to the right to stumble past him. The behemoth follows her movement. Cole isn’t doing much better.

A large piece of coiled rope attached to some important metal thing catches her eye — _she never learned much about boats, as much as she stowed away on them_ — and she makes a break for it, using as much as force as she can to heave the rope into her arms and throw it under the behemoths feet.

It works. He goes tumbling down onto his teammates, shouting and fuming. And then roaring pain erupts in her head and _hey, how did the sky get up there?_

The red templar from before stands above her, his sword drawn. “Nice trick,” he rumbles deeply. “But you won’t be leaving here today.”

Her brain stops. Flashes of here and then come and go. _Is that burning flesh?_ She can’t tell who’s screaming, who’s blood is in her mouth. When she finally stops thrashing and opens her eyes, she finds Solas above her, with just-barely trembling hands and worried eyes. The red Templar is dead in the corner.

“Did I...”

“Yes, da’lath’in,” Solas murmurs. “You’ve been unresponsive for several minutes.”

“It was fuckin’ badass!” Bull roars, startling her. She hadn’t even noticed he was sitting on a barrel somewhere behind her.

The boat is rocking gently — they must’ve anchored it. Her head doesn’t hurt nearly as much, meaning she must’ve healed herself subconsciously, because Solas would never risk it if she was freaking out like that.

“Was it?” She asks tentatively, sitting up.

“You grabbed him by the throat and fried him, Boss,” Bull replies, mimicking the movements. Her own hands move to her neck, as if she could feel what she did.

“I don’t even remember. I just...”

“It happens,” Bull shrugs, more sober now. “Don’t sweat it.”

She wants to protest, that her hands are trembling and the power she felt was so bright and overwhelming and that the dagger in the man’s stomach was black with char, but she falls silent, the words echoing inside herself instead.

“The Chargers are okay, right?”

Bull takes longer to reply now, one eye surveying the sea. But he nods eventually, “yeah, Boss. The Chargers are okay. Resting up with the Inquisition nearby.”

She feels relief flood her in waves and decides it’s time to get up now. Solas offers to heal her, his hand extended cautiously towards her head.

They set fire to the ship and watch it sink from the shore, with Subira leaning tiredly on Bull’s horns from atop his shoulders. He pats her knee fondly.

She may have sacrificed an allyship with the Qun, but she saved the Chargers, and that’s enough for her.

That’s enough for her.


	74. Yohe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plains introduction, Solas grief, the usual. People making promises to Subira they have no intention to keep, you know how it be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been awhile, I’ve had a difficult year. But here’s chapter 74, and the ball grows closer, by the way. I’m hell-bent I’m finishing this fanfiction eventually because it got away from me lmaoo. She’ll get a trespasser/pre-trespasser spin-off but once we get to the end I have another project I’ve been wanting to work on so badly  
> Not that I don’t love Subira!

They continue on their journey for the Plains the next day, after she’s gotten a good nights rest and Solas has scolded her thoroughly for pushing forward like that. Bull chides him — an odd role reversal — for being so stern, and tells her to not risk herself like that again.

The Chargers part with warm goodbyes for Subira; Krem sweeping her up and crushing her in his arms, Dalish placing a flower crown upon her hair, Skinner pats her head rather awkwardly — she’s not very fond of affection, but she’s getting there — and so on, until they were ready to leave.

A couple of hours into the journey to the Plains, Subira decides they won’t talk about the Qun until they return to Skyhold. It’ll give her and Bull time to digest what happened, and then they can talk about Herah, and the Ben-Hassrath and... all that.

The thought gives her some amount of relief, that she’ll have time to process before having to speak to him, so she isn’t insanely nervous. 

Instead, she focuses on the scenery, trying to take as much of it in as possible. She spent so much time on the run or merely completing missions that she never appreciated life. 

_ Who knows, with this green infection on her hand, how much time she truly has to do that, anyway, so, you know. _

The trip to the Exalted Plains from the Storm Coast took about ten days on horse back — they even had to go around Skyhold — so it wasn’t an incredibly long trip, but it did feel like pulling out her own teeth.

They knew they had arrived because the smell of fires reached them. Ash fluttered through the air from miles away and Subira could feel the unrest of the Exalted Plains before they ever arrived.

Subira, for the second time in her life, decided then that she did not like war.

She knows that is a very naive way to look at it. But gazing at what should be the Dales in horror, the singed trees, the forgotten and desecrated corpses lying around and demons roaming the veil-thin terrain, all she can think is how she wants it to _stop_.

“Hi Lace,” Subira greets, but her eyes are focused on everything happening in the distance.

Lace looks behind them and sighs. “Hi, Your Worship. It doesn’t look good, I know. But that’s why we’re here, right?”

Subira doesn’t respond. Lace pats her arm once, squeezing gently, and hands her the reports. The agent has to leave to attend to her duties, but Subira, as she walks through the camp, can only notice how destroyed everything looks. Things crumble to ash under her steps and she reads through the reports.

_ Celene’s armies have not responded... _

_ Gaspard’s forces pushed into corner by corpses... _

_ Desecrated elven bodies all over the place... _

Subira frowns over the un-resting Plains, as their turmoil rolls over them in the form of heat and dust and carries the smell of rust and rubble.

* * *

Demons suck. Chevaliers suck. Wars suck. Everything sucks. Her armor is covered in blood and gore and ichor, she lost a dagger and has to fight with a staff — her fighting technique is a bit off since she came out of the Fade, she’ll be honest, so range fighting is better for her, but she hates admitting that and so complains about the missing dagger endlessly — and there’s corpses everywhere.

Even with a cloth over her face to block out the stench of death and decay, it’s inescapable. It crawls through any hole it can find and creeps into her senses, startling and unpleasant each time it just starts to clear out.

They’ve freed the first ramparts from the clutches of the Arcane Horrors and are catching their breath, collecting more correspondence from the region and setting up camps in the Plains. It’s relatively easy work, compared to what they normally do. No more cantering from place to place, more of alert walking.

Oh, pick up tomes for Vivienne? _Check._ Return tomes that actually belong to the Dalish to the Dalish? _Also check._ Pick up chalk drawings of cool sigils? _Hell yeah._ Side-eye Solas when you find him making weird faces at Elvhen murals or relics? _Check!_ _She’s on a roll._

While she’s relaxing — Dorian forced her to let them take a break, but Bull said it was more for her sake —Solas approaches her a few hours after midday, an urgency in his voice but calm in his step. The sun isn’t quite setting, but it’s begun it’s descent already.

“We must hurry, Inquisitor. I can feel her — my friend. She’s in danger.”

“We’ll go now. Just you and I?”

Solas smiles, albeit tightly, and nods. Together, they mount Hyundai, Solas behind her, and confidently she gives him a squeeze with her calves. _“Hyah!”_

Hyundai charges off through the plains, galloping through the dry brush and itchy stalks, leaping over broken fences and rocks. Solas holds onto Subira for dear life.

Solas’ grip tightens suddenly, announcing, _“We’re close!”_

Solas dismounts before Hyundai is at a complete stop, his eyes wide and mouth twisted in anger. Subira is close behind him, warning Hyundai to stay where he is as she follows. Hyundai snorts in reply.

There is a pride demon trapped, surrounded by exhausted mages. One turns, and his face lights up as they approach.

“Oh, thank the Maker! A mage! You’re not with the bandits?” The man exclaims, a tiredness in his face that comes from little sleep while on the road. “Do you have any lyrium potions? We’ve been trying to—“

“We aren’t here to help you,” Solas snaps at the man, very close to throttling him. “What did you think you were doing?!” 

Subira has never seen him so angry.

“Inquisitor,” Solas turns to her with bright tears in his eyes and a desperate look on his face. “Please.”

“Of course,” she immediately agrees. “We’ll take them out together. Keep it off of me.”

Together, Solas and Subira attack the summoning stones rigorously, sweat pouring down their faces as they dodge the demon’s rage. Suddenly, Subira hits a weak point, and with a loud, simultaneous crack, the lights spiraling around the stones dampens, weakening them. It takes a lot out of her, however, and she stumbles, leaning heavily against one of the crumbling stones.

When the last one falls, so does the demon, revealing an ancient, elvhen looking spirit. Solas rushes to catch her, holding her weak form in his arms with tears in his eyes.

_“Lethallan... ir abelas,”_ he murmurs with great sadness, swallowing a lump in his throat.

My friend, I am sorry.

_ “Tel’abelas. Enasal. Ir tel’him.” _

I am not sorry. I feel joy. I am me again.

He purses his lips as a tear rolls down his cheek, but the spirit finds the strength to say more, almost admonishing in her words, _“Ma helava halani. Mala suledin nadas. Ma ghilana mir din’an.”_

I almost cannot repay you for how you’ve helped me. Now you must endure. Guide me into death.

Solas looks away painfully, as if he’s trying to physically refrain from being stubborn so that he does not strain his friend any further. Eventually he looks back up and replies, _“Ma nuvenin.”_

As you say.

And then he helps her fade away, gritting his teeth as she goes, forcing himself to watch. He whispers, _“Dareth shiral,”_ To her as she goes.

Leave this place in peace.

He sits there on his knees for several moments after, and then gets up with fire in his eyes.

Subira approaches him cautiously. “Solas?”

“All that remains now is _them.”_

His eyes are hard and have a vengeance in them Subira didn’t know he could possess, turning sharply to address the three foolhardy mages. This was the wrath of a god, she thought, and swallowed hard

They approach, unknowing of their consequences, relieved that the perceived danger is gone. “Thank you — we wouldn’t have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected...”

Solas advances on him, radiating anger and a certain coldness she can’t quite describe. “You tortured and killed my friend!”

“We - we - we didn’t know it was just a spirit, the - the book said it could help us!“ the mages stammer to explain themselves, eyes wide with fear as they back away from Solas and silently plead with the young girl to intervene.

She doesn’t.

Subira says nothing and watches Solas immolate them. Their screams of pain barely rivaled his screams of anguish. His mourning was _loud_ and _angry_ and _howling_.

She wonders if they too will haunt her dreams. If she should have stopped him. Would she have done the same, in their position? If she was a scared, lost traveler and the book told her what to do—

When it’s over, he stands before the ashes, breathing heavily. She walks towards him slowly.

“I’m sorry, _Hahren_ ,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around his middle. “ _Ir abelas.”_

I am sorry.

A sob wrenches itself out his throat. He turns around and hugs the girl back tightly, like she is the anchor now, and he is merely a leaf that might blow away.

“ _Da’lath’in_ ,” he murmurs tenderly, like a man who so desperately wishes to rip the world to shreds and is afraid of harming the gentlest flower. “I must... I am going to return to Skyhold. I need time.”

Suddenly a worry strikes her mind and she looks up at him, her brow furrowed and her lips turned in a frown.

“You’ll... you’ll come back though... right?”

His face softens from the torment he must be feeling, and he nods, leaning down to kiss her forehead with just a brush of his lips, like he wasn’t even there. “Always, _da’lath’in_. Always.”

Subira wishes he wouldn’t make promises like that, but somewhere in her hopes that maybe that’s the old part of her talking. _Maybe this time, he means it. Maybe now the people in her life will always come back._

Solas treks out on his own and Subira rides back to camp on Hyundai, tired and without their favorite apostate mage.

“Where is Solas?” Dorian asks without looking up, but when she slides from the saddle he’s more concerned with how her knees buckle when she hits the ground.

“Shit, Boss,” Bull rumbles, coming to help her get to a log near the fire. “Tell us what happened.”

So she does. Bull and Dorian don’t really get it, and Cole talks in riddles — but Subira gets it. Solas loves his culture, _clings_ to it — and that was what he considered a friend. Oh, to lose so much of what you cherish...

Subira hopes he doesn’t feel alone tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like it would be more impactful to translate it in the story. Let me know what you think!
> 
> As always, credit for the elvhen/elvish goes to FenxShiral’s Project Elvhen.
> 
> da’lath’in — little heart  
> Yohe is mourning


	75. Flew Across The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet a new friend — just a brief introduction, don’t worry, she’ll be here later! — and get some of Subira’s thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo shit is fucking whack dog. I’m working on a bunch of stuff since I’m not in school. stay safe y’all. sorry it’s kind of a short one. ps Athevera is one of my inquisitors you’ll see shit about her eventually and also she’ll be showing up more in this story later

For the entire time — it’s been three weeks so far — they’ve been in the Exalted Plains, Subira has thought she’s seen a shadow at the edge of her sight. But every time she turns, it’s gone, just like that. Bull seems to think she’s dehydrated and Dorian complains that she needs more sleep, but she knows.

She especially knows that she wasn’t crazy when she leaves camp to climb up as high as she can on the rocks — she can’t sleep since Solas left, and it’s something to do — and instead finds a blank face staring at her when she pulls herself up to swing over the ledge.

_ “Ah!” _

Subira falls back to the ground on her back, groaning in pain. That knocked the wind out of her.

The person who’s face had startled her now stands over her, a flame in one hand and an unamused expression on her face. “So. _You_ are this Herald.”

“Depends on who’s asking,” the girl replies with a wince, rubbing the back of her head. “Fucking a’, you know how to make an entrance, huh?”

Subira takes the time to observe her new acquaintance in the very limited light. Blonde? No, paler than blonde. Braided, but shaved on the sides. Her face bears vallaslin, an intricate torch over her left eye. Her eyes are like lightning — blue and just a hint of a lavender hue. There’s a scar running through her right eyebrow, skipping her eye and across her cheek, and another across her lip. The stranger also bears not only a staff, but a bow and quiver and two finely polished daggers upon her hips, and judging by her stance, likely more hidden on her person.

“Hmph,” the woman replied, backing up and finally allowing Subira some breathing room. “I am Lavellan. You are the Inquisitor, yes?”

Subira leans up on her elbows and drawls, “so... you need the magic hand, or the swords?”

This causes a dark scowl to cross the elf’s face but Subira raises her hands placatingly, and falls back into the dirt in the process. A plume of the loose dust flies up around her and she wheezes and coughs. “One... minute...” she manages to get out, finally sitting up.

“Most people don’t need the teenager, they need the glowing hand,” she raises the still dimly glowing hand despite her glove, “or the Inquisition. So, which one?”

Lavellan stares at who she considers no more than a child for a long time before making a disgruntled noise, much like Cassandra, “I wish to offer my services.”

“So you’ve been following me because...?”

“How else was I to know if you were as good as your word?”

“Fair,” Subira agrees with a shrug. Makes sense. “We have a base in the Frostbacks—“

“Skyhold,” Lavellan interrupts, a secretively sly smile appearing on her face for just a moment, revealing the pointy incisors inside her mouth. “I will confer with your Spymaster — the Left Hand, yes? Or former now, one might say.”

“You’re well informed,” Subira notes.

Lavellan just smiles wickedly again.

Deciding to leave that alone, she instead looks to the moons. “So, will you travel with us, or head right to Skyhold?”

Lavellan blinks for several moments. “You would invite a stranger to share your meals, your beds, your missions?”

“Yeah?”

The elf looks like she wants to comment, but her mouth simply opens and closes. “I will write to — my clan,” Lavellan replies finally. “As generous and tempting as your offer is, I feel it urgent that I must speak with your Spymaster.”

“Okay,” Subira agrees, and turns around to walk back to camp. When she realizes Lavellan isn’t following, she calls back.

“Are you coming?”

“Am I— what?”

“I am going to make sure you have enough supplies before you leave,” Subira replies like it’s obvious. Lavellan merely sighs and follows after her obediently.

When morning comes and the pale rays of light are bursting through the ever abundant clouds, Bull yawns and exits his tent, only to jump out of his skin when he sees a new face sitting with Subira by the fire.

“Uh, kid? You pick up a friend?” Bull asks, taking a seat across from them.

“This is Lavellan. She wants to work for the Inquisition, I’m just making sure she has what she needs. I’m writing her a letter so she can get a mount from the nearest Inquisition camp.”

Bull stares at the girl for a few moments, processing, and then at the elf. She seems just as, if not more, confused as he is. Her face is mostly impassive and her ears are a dainty length and yet narrow and sharp, which only adds to her rather imposing appearance with her high cheekbones and scowl.

“Well,” he says finally, deciding to make something for breakfast. “Another elf wont hurt the Inquisition. Might wanna steer clear of Sera, though.”

“Ah, yes,” Lavellan muses absently, though theres recognition there. “The Jenny,” Bull is careful not to narrow his eyes at her, but she largely ignores his suspicion, instead showing off her pointed incisors threateningly under the guise of yawning. “Why?”

“Too ‘elfy’,” Subira replies apologetically, finally sealing the letter with a magical seal that Vivienne taught her nigh-immediately after finding out she had magic. “Sera doesn’t like elves who are ‘too elfy’.”

“Too... Is she not also an elf?”

“A city elf,” Bull fills in, skimming on details, “raised by a noble lady. Real snob. Messed with her head.”

Lavellan’s mouth presses into a thin line before she exhales. “I see. Well, I shall endeavor to not be... too elfy... in her presence, I suppose.”

Bull laughs quietly under his breath. “Good luck with that.”

Sera is unfortunately temperamental and regardless of how hard you may try, she may deem you too _‘this’_ or too _‘that’_. It could be the changes in weather, for all they know. Sera is simply Sera.

Lavellan stands, her legs long and taller than most elves Bull has seen, but still rather short. Subira hands her the letter along with a bag of supplies and directions on where to go, to which Lavellan replies that she already knows.

_“Ofd woomin,”_ Subira comments when she’s left, mouth full of hardtack and swallowing thickly, but Bull deciphers it as ‘odd woman’. “What did you think?”

“... interesting company you find yourself in, Boss.”

Subira’s smile is crooked. “True, but I also employ a former Ben-Hassrath and his mercenary group,” before he can reply, she asks, “Hey, do you think we’ll be back in time for Satinalia?”

He makes a noise of interest. “You celebrate?”

She feels her face burn with her embarrassment. “No, I haven’t before. I just... was wondering, you know, for planning and such. I’m sure Josie is ahead of it, of course, but...”

Bull shrugs and drops it after saying they’ll definitely be back in time for Satinalia, and she feels excitement well up inside her. Definitely not on account of all the gifts she’s been compiling for months and can’t wait to give to her inner circle for Satinalia. And if they do miss it she’ll give them on First Day. No big deal.

No big deal.

She tells herself that but it only makes her more nervous about the whole affair, of giving them gifts. It’s not something she’s done with anyone other than Castelleta, really, and even then, they never had money to spend on holidays, so gifts were done when possible. And they were practical items, always something to help you survive.

This is entirely different and she knows it but she wishes it weren’t.

Somewhere in her wishes she could share her first real holiday with Castelleta.

Somewhere in her misses the small gifts they used to get each other.

* * *

She approaches the Clan on the Plains very far into their journey, meaning to give them lots of warning that the Inquisition would be here in the region.

When she finally met with the Keeper, he turned to her solemnly and said,

“You have a great weight in you, Inquisitor. So young to carry such a great burden, no?”

“I... suppose so. I thank you for welcoming us nonetheless. I’m sure it’s been difficult with the war.”

“As much as I do not trust the shemlen, much less Chantry shemlen, I have little choice. We need your protection from the War,” he sighs deliberately, grinding the bottom of his staff into the dirt. “I would not be putting my people in this position otherwise.”

Subira nods, trying to keep her expression neutral. “If I may? We aren’t part of the Chantry, Keeper. I would never let that happen.”

He eyes her again for a long moment, and then huffs. “Be that as it may, that leaves the fact that I do not trust your organization.”

“That’s understandable,” she replies with a shrug. “But we aren’t Chantry. What can I do to prove I want what’s best for everyone?”

“Speak to our Storekeeper and other members of my Clan — there are always things that need to be done. Remember — we are watching, Herald.”

Subira nods and does the Inquisitorial salute to him, her nod brisk but deep, deeper than most. A sign of respect.

She brings this news with her to the others, who sat on the river bank cooling off under the heat of the plains.

Dorian moans about the burrs that will get caught in his robes and how the sweat will plaster his perfect hair to his head, but Subira finds a rock to mount Hyundai with regardless and rolls her eyes.

Cole looks up at her curiously. “Repaying the favor, turning over the leaf. Once upon a time a clan did right by you, you’ll do right by them now. People are people.”

Subira smiles softly, even if the memory isn’t necessarily a great one, it’s not a bad one either. “Yes, Cole. People are people.”

With Dorian’s opinion on slavery — which has caused many arguments in both the trip to the Plains and while exploring them — this usually would cause an indignant scoff, but instead he appears thoughtful.

And then he’s covered in water on the riverbank, sputtering and gasping, and Bull grins above him.

“You should consider yourself lucky, Bull. Out of all times, you choose right now—“

“Relax, Vint,” Bull replies with no malice in his tone, grinning softly. “You’ll dry in no time. Plus,” he laughs, “It’ll keep you sharp!” He turns to Subira, who was waiting to mount Hyundai. “Let’s go, Boss.”

Subira forgot when he started calling her _Boss_ instead of _Little Boss._ Cassandra has been upgraded to _Cass_ or _Cassandra_ , _Seeker_ in formal settings instead of just referring to her as _Boss_.

Oddly, she misses him calling her _Little Boss_. It has nostalgia tied to it and reminds her of before she was named Inquisitor, of before she was tied to this.

The sun blinds her for a moment and she shakes her head, bringing a hand up to block it. She feels like nothing they’re doing is having a difference. A lone crow flies off a rotted, broken fence post.

There’s wolves in the distance — they’ve been in their peripheral since they set foot on the plains, snarling and growling and foaming at the mouth. Their eyes glow an eerie green that echoes that of the mark on her hand and they’re hyper aggressive. She theorized that it’s because of the war in the Plains, similar to how a demon controlled the wolves in the Hinterlands, but without Solas here she has no way of consulting anyone about it.

They set a relentless pace across the Plains — which is how shes referred to them in her mind since she got there, unwilling to add Exalted to it — from chasing undead across ramparts and killing Arcane Horrors for the army to sending a request to Cullen for his troops to build a ‘fix-it’ bridge, as she likes to call them, she’s been working nonstop. Even when she should be sleeping — something that had, for a brief time, gotten better — she’s instead looking over correspondence with drooping eyes long into the night, or planning their next route for the day.

It’s beginning to wear a little bit on her. The rifts she has had to close are strong — and the pull of the Fade is harsh. The dead are unrested here, between the elven blood that laid there for thousands of years and now the fresh blood of human men who’s lives would pay the price for Celene and Gaspard’s political wrestling. Every time she closes a rift lately it feels like shoving her hand into a pot of stinging nettles, or being burned by hot metal, or dragon fire, or—

Well. It hurts, to say the least. And without Solas here to do anything, all she can do is buck up, wrap her hand, and continue on. Dorian asks about it nearly every day, asking _do you need a potion_ or _can I do anything?_ When all she wants to do is forget it’s there. _Forget_ that it’s consuming her.

Even if after closing a rift only a day ago caused her knees to give out from under her and Bull’s eye was wet with emotion from where she laid in his arms, and even if Cole was kneeling next to her, his skin more pale than she had ever seen him when she came to — that’s no reason for slacking off.

Most people might say it is — and so what if she isn’t taking time to rest, Thedas is at stake, _what’s her life in comparison to thousands, millions of others?_ — but she disagrees. Even if it continues to pull her apart a little bit inside. Even if it hurts.

No one was unaffected after that. In fact, she couldn’t be left alone after it. Always checking in in some form or another. Of course, they never call it that, because who wants to be the Mother Hen? Normally, it goes like:

“Hey Boss, just checkin’ in.”

Or,

“Man, I’m feeling that one,” followed by over exaggerated groaning, and agreement from Dorian, who asks her, “How is our infallible Herald faring?”

And it’s not that she doesn’t appreciate them and their efforts to both be there for her and not overwhelm her, she does — it actually makes her so emotional that she threatens to burn off Bull’s nipples if he doesn’t cover them up, but the threat rolled off of him and Dorian even laughed fondly.

Vivienne and Josephine — probably Cassandra too — were going to have a fit when they return, with Subira swearing and blaspheming up a storm left and right. They had camped out with some of the soldiers that they could reach — until the peace talks are done, there are several forts that they’re unsure about approaching — and she had begun to talk and act like a foot soldier. Bull encouraged it with eager, roaring laughs, and Dorian chided her often but little else.

Just a bit more. _Just a bit more._


	76. Relative Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We’re getting closer to the Satinalia Celebration AND the Winter Ball. Both will be sizable chapters in their own right.  
> But for now, Dorian quest.

While riding to their next job, a hooded rider came riding towards them on a horse at a gallop, breathing heavily. Subira halts her horse tensely.

“How the fuck...”

“No one knows we were coming out here to get those guys except for the camp we left, right?” Bull double checks, his hand going for the axe strapped to his back.

“They were the only ones,” Subira confirms, still eyeing the rider.

Except for the scouting camp they left earlier that day after re-supplying, _no one_ should know where they went.

“Your Worship,” the man on the horse gasps, revealing himself to be an agent when the horse finally comes in range. He tugs the horse to a halt, shaking and coughing. “My apologies, one moment.”

“Take your time!” Subira eased him, dismounting and forcing a water skin into his hands up on the horse. “Here, here, drink this!”

Shakily he takes a sip of water, and then another. He breathes slowly and then takes out a letter with calmer hands. “Thank you, Your Worship. It’s urgent news from Sister Nightingale.”

With that bit of news, her heart sinks into her stomach. _Fuck_. “Thank you, ser. You’re dismissed.”

Subira opens the missive as the scout rides away and fights to not set it on fire. Bull and Dorian watch her stare blankly down at the page for several moments before stamping her foot on the ground and then press her palm into her mouth, muffling a scream of frustration.

She turns around and blinks away her upset tears. “We’re leaving for Skyhold. We secured an invitation to the Winter Ball.”

Her companions stare at her a bit nervously as she calmly gets ready to go. She snaps, “now!”

They ride hard in the other direction, back towards Skyhold. Dread is already pooling in her stomach, nauseous at the prospect of returning to Orlais and even worse, presenting herself to the Empress and the Court.

“Inquisitor?”

Subira didn’t even realize it was so dark. They’re three days away from Skyhold now, having ridden hard to the furthest camp on the edge of the Plains and exchanging their horses before continuing. She trails nonsense patterns in the dirt with a stick.

“Yeah, Dorian?”

He takes this as an invitation, carefully sitting down next to her on the ground she chose as her seat. He passes her a bowl of something — _dinner is dinner, and she doesn’t discriminate against food_ — and she takes it but does not eat, merely holding it in her lap and breathing through the slight steam that rises to meet her face, relishing in the warmth of the bowl against her hands.

“I simply came to see what was bothering you,” he replies, looking up towards the stars. “Ah, the stars. Quite beautiful tonight, wouldn’t you say?”

She doesn’t know. She looks up to the sky, expecting to see some beautiful galaxy, and is met with clouds.

“Dorian.”

There’s a smile in his voice. “Yes?”

“There aren’t any stars out.”

“Of course there are,” he replies fondly, making her pinch her brow in a frown. “Just because the clouds are covering them does not mean the stars don’t do their job. Behind those clouds are the stars.”

“I guess.”

It’s quiet for a few moments. Dorian sighs. “Some may call it science, that the stars will always be there—“

“—I’m pretty sure they’d be right—“

“Will you be still a moment? I’m trying to...” he trails off, rubbing his chin. “Science explains why the stars return no matter what, yes. But it sounds an awful lot like a constant, yes?”

“Constants,” she murmurs.

A small smile curls up the side of his lips. “Exactly. Small, reassuring constants. Like the stars.”

Subira has a different opinion of the cloudy night sky now, looking at it with fascination and leaning into his side. “Thank you, Dorian.”

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and she feels a kiss pressed to the top of her head. “You get lost in yourself, Subira. Sometimes you need someone to lead you back out. Remember that you’re not alone in this, my dear.”

And for the first time since learning about the Ball, she believes in constants.

“I can’t wait to get home,” she murmurs tiredly.

“Hm,” he hums quietly, thoughtfully. “Home. Ho-me,” he tries the word out several times experimentally. “Yes, I quite agree. Skyhold has become home, hasn’t it?”

She nods against his robes.

“We have an early start tomorrow, carissima. You need to eat something before going to bed.”

Subira frowns down at the food in her lap. Instead of addressing how her appetite is distinctly lacking lately, she mocks, “you’re acting responsible. Viv would be proud.”

“So be it,” he replies dramatically. “If I must impress the Iron Witch, so be it.”

“Dorian!” Subira gasps in mock-offense and delight.

“Settle down,” he ruffles her hair, still barely grown out. “Truly, if I must crow like a mother hen, I suppose that’s a sacrifice I must make. For you, anything.”

_ For you, anything. _

Those words mean so much more than Dorian could ever know. Or perhaps he does. Either way, with a look of trepidation towards her food, she lifts a small spoonful to her mouth. Before she knows it, a small portion of it is gone, even if she barely tasted it.

“Don’t make yourself sick now,” he chides softly. “You ate more than I thought you would. Good,” he smiles, taking her bowl. “Off to bed, don’t you think? We have an early start in the morning, and you know how you get when you’ve first woken up.”

“Take that back!” She demands, shoving his shoulder as best as she can.

“Not on my life,” he grins, helping her stand and wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they walk back to camp. “I cannot tell a lie, Inquisitor.”

Bull laughs heartily as they appear in the firelight together. “Are you sure about that, Vint?”

“Bite me,” Dorian replies with a smirk and a wink.

Subira scrunches her nose up. “Can you guys do that somewhere else?”

Dorian and Bull share a fond smile. “Get some rest tonight, Su,” Bull calls to her as she crawls into the tent she now shares with Cole.

Cole doesn’t sleep — _often_ — but he makes a valiant effort. Most of the time she wakes up to him sitting upright next to her. The first time that happened she almost stabbed him.

And the second time, and so on until she adjusted.

Eventually she learned to recognize _Cole vs. Not Cole._ Purring warmth on her chest? Cole brought a cat from the castle into her room and placed it on her chest in an attempt to comfort her. Shadow with a hat sitting deathly still next to her in the middle of the night? Just Cole. Doing... _whatever_ Cole does at night. She asked him once and he said that he was resting, so she hasn’t bothered him.

_Though_ , if he’s supposed to be getting actual sleep...

“I don’t need sleep,” Cole replies to her wandering thoughts, jolting her into the present.

On his back he lay, with his hat clutched in his hands over his chest and his eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“If that changes, let me or at least Varric know, okay?”

“Yes.”

Her mind wanders a bit further before she sighs and succumbs to the seductress that is sleep.

* * *

They ride hard for Skyhold, making the two week journey from the depths of the Plains into a barely two week journey, exchanging horses at Inquisition Camps. The only stop they made was to drop off supplies to the Dalish Clan as they left, harried and on different horses — something that upset Subira to no end, but she was hoping Hyundai was home when she got there — and getting ready to bolt.

The Keeper invited them to stay for the night, but with the time schedule they were on they simply couldn’t afford to. Subira promised to come by when she returned, handing the Keeper the copies of the sigils with a wavering smile before hightailing it out of there.

They were almost within sight of Skyhold when she screeched to a stop suddenly, leaving her companions to gallop past her until they realized that she was behind them.

They turned around at a trot and approached her. Dorian shook his head. “I don’t like the look on your face, Subira.”

“What look?” She pouted.

The _I have an idea_ look, Dorians face said.

She held the pout for a minute before shrugging. “Yeah, okay. We’re going to the Hinterlands.”

Bull’s brow furrowed deeply, a sigh rumbling out of his chest. “Normally I encourage you, Boss, but—“

“Someone is waiting in Redcliffe,” she replies, looking at Dorian. “I sent that letter while we were in the Plains. He should be there.”

Dorian gaped, a bit pale. “How did you—“

“I have my ways. I might’ve pretended to be you by modifying that spell Vivienne taught me and using some of your hair to create a magical signature.”

Aghast, he exhaled silently, shaking his head. He sighed once. Twice. “Okay,” he agreed.

“Okay?” She repeats, but looks in the direction of the Hinterlands eagerly.

“You win, Subira. Let’s go, and hope the Nightingale doesn’t string us up for the trouble.”

“Ha!” The gleam in Subira’s eyes cannot be rivaled by any gem or star as she gathers her reins and repositions her heels. “She’d have to catch me to do that.”

“We should still let them know we’ll be delayed,” Bull suggests, but it’s not really a suggestion.

Subira nods. “Cole, can you return to Skyhold please? Let them know our journey will be delayed by a few days.”

Cole waited for nothing else, nodding briskly and taking off towards the keep. It startled a small laugh out of her. _Guess he wanted to go home._

“Ready?”

Bull and Dorian give her the affirmative and she grins. She squeezes her horses sides and the mare she’s riding leaps to a start towards Redcliffe.

* * *

Their arrival at Redcliffe is proceeded by quiet. No agents come to intercept them and insist they return to Skyhold first. Whether that was Cole’s doing by making them forget until they get back, or because they decided to let it be, they can’t be sure until it’s over with.

As they approach the gates, Dorian begins to fidget on his horse. “Subira, stop the horses.”

They pull to a halt just outside of Redcliffe Village and dismount. Subira places a hand on her hip lazily. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

He runs a hand through his hair, sharing a look with Bull. “I don’t think you should come with us.”

Subira scoffed. “As if. And let him haul you back to Tevinter?”

“He... I’m not going to lie to you, he might,” Dorian replies, to which Subira makes an indignant noise in the back of her throat, Bull mirroring it.

“I’ll kill him before I let that happen, Dorian.”

Dorian comes to kneel before her and he gently holds her face in his hands. “I couldn’t forgive myself if you were hurt because of me, _carissima_. I don’t want you to do something reckless.”

“I won’t get hurt, Dorian,” she insists, almost whining now, a hurt edge in her tone. “You’re trying to protect me, but I need to protect you too. You — you guys are all I have. I have to p-p-protec-t you.”

Dorian’s face softened into putty and pulled Subira in for a tight hug. “Oh, _carissima_...”

“I won’t let anything happen to him, Su,” Bull’s voice rumbles soothingly from behind her, his large hand rubbing her back gently in soft circles. “Don’t worry. But he’s right. Just let us handle the adult stuff, okay? We’ve got it.”

Subira nods, still clinging tightly to Dorian. “Be safe, okay?” She whispers as they part.

“On my honor,” he replies, hoping for the snarky grin he knows and loves.

Mischief lights up in her vibrant veridium green eyes, her crooked smile an instant relief to him. “What honor?”

“We’ll see you after, Subira.”

Bull and Dorian walk into Redcliffe together and her grin fades as they disappear around the curve.

“Now what?” She asks the horse miserably, who snorts with sympathy. She sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

* * *

Subira and her horse end up outside the meeting place — _the Gull and Lantern, nowhere special_ — sitting on the ground under the window in case anything happens. She already checked the perimeter and surprisingly found nothing. The only magical signature in the area is Dorian.

And his fathers.

Dorian’s usual magical presence of a warm blanket feels like an ice cold bath, but more than that. Primal. Afraid. Instead of hanging around the area like it normally does, his mana is tightly coiled. Hidden; Subira had to actively seek it out.

What could he have done to make Dorian so afraid?

It makes Subira’s blood boil, that someone hurt someone she cares about, and that they’d try to take them away. Her fingers clench into fists in her lap and she grinds her jaw, remembering her meditation with Solas and Vivienne’s advice on control. Her shoulders slowly relax and she exhales, folding her anger up in her chest for later, a piece of it stinging in her palm like a lit coal.

Suddenly, the conversation inside takes her attention as the volume rises. Her heart sinks as she hears the slight tremors in Dorian’s voice, and, however faintly, the pain in his words.

_ “—... always your... ing legacy!” _

_ “... please, ... about this, be rational—“ _

“Rational?” Dorian exclaims, closer sounding now. “You want me to be rational? Do you want to know what he tried to do when I told him I preferred men? He tried to change me! How’s that for rational? You spent my whole life preaching against the dangers of blood magic only to... only to...”

There’s silence for several moments. Subira feels her previously neatly folded up anger blossom and she shakes with rage, standing up and scrambling for the door.

“Dorian, I am sorry that you feel this way...” his father replies — like an asshole — and she scoffs. From the sound of Bull’s snort as she gets closer and nervous shuffling after, he didn’t like that response either.

Subira pushes the door open and exhales fear and inhales rage, concentrating it inside her throat just like Vivienne taught her and tilting her chin up just so. She walks heel-to-toe the way Josephine instructed her, always watched carefully by Leliana’s watchful eyes from above.

His father’s shrewd eyes fall upon her immediately, narrowing. “And who is this? A welp of one of the cooks?”

“The Inquisitor, actually,” she replies, cocking her hip and crossing her arms. “Dorian, are you about ready to go home?”

Dorian spends several moments staring at his father, and his father stares back. They seem to have nothing left to say to each other. The flames of the fireplace flicker over the betrayed expression that hides inside Dorian’s eyes.

 

“Yes, Inquisitor,” he finally replies, turning to leave. “My business is done here.”

“Dorian,” his father tries one more time, pleading, but Subira intercepts the reaching hand sharply. He tries to tug his wrist out of her iron grip, but she holds firm.

“From this moment until you reach the borders of Tevinter, you will be watched. If I could have eyes on you in Tevinter, trust me, I would,” Subira says, looking directly into his eyes, adrenaline pushing her forward, despite knowing that this is an accomplished, experienced and studied mage: an adult man who could kill her. She pushes through that, almost snarling. “Dorian has more friends in the South than you could ever imagine. Watch your back, Magister Pavus. If Dorian hadn’t expressed concern for your safety, it would be my knife in your throat. I hope it hurts when you find your way across the Veil.”

She releases him carelessly and sneers when he stumbles back, pivoting on her heel and reaching for the door. She turns back to say one last thing, “have a nice trip.”

When Bull and Dorian both exit she slams the door behind them and leads the way, head held high, to their mounts.

“Thank you,” she murmurs to the scouts who await them patiently, climbing up on her horse swiftly.

“Subira...”

“It was nothing, Dorian.”

“You didn’t have to—“

“No one will threaten the people I love,” Subira replies sharply, the now setting sun casting shadows onto her face. “No one.”

They ride back for Skyhold despite the dark, determined to make it at least to a Hinterlands camp for the night before picking up the ride in the morning.


End file.
